


The Ties that Bind Us - Things (Fall) Apart

by Kitty (Tamoline)



Series: Childish Things [2]
Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 16:32:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamoline/pseuds/Kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The relationships between Caroline, Elena and Katherine have only gotten more complicated.</p><p>But things can't go on like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Overture - Melody

I comb my fingers through some of the worst of the tangles in my hair before starting to work my hairbrush through the length of it. Slow, even strokes, just the way Mom used to do it when I was a little girl determined to have hair down to my ankles. That was during my fairytale princess phase. Sometimes, I think I've never really outgrown that phase, that a part of me is still holding out hope of my very own happy ever after.

And then I wake up.

The hair thing lasted until the Great Chewing Gum Disaster. I think I cried for a full day after the emergency trip to the hairdresser. At least until Bonnie and Caroline chased Matt down and stuck his head in a mudhole. We never did find out whether or not it actually *was* his gum that was responsible. He's certainly always claimed innocence.

Sometimes I miss those days. Back then, it seemed like there was nothing I couldn't do. Nothing any of us couldn't do. The world was a wonderful, magical place, and the only monsters were in story books.

Now I am one of the monsters.

No, that's not true. I may be a vampire, but I'm still *me*.

What was it Caroline told me to say whenever I start thinking Negative Thoughts? Oh, yes.

I pause in my brushing, leaning forward and looking deep into my own eyes within the mirror.

"I, Elena Gilbert, am a Good Person," I say softly, smiling to myself as I realise I'm unconsciously mimicking Caroline's voice. "I'm not a monster, I just have a condition. Being a vampire does not make me any less fabulous."

I start laughing. I can't help it! I don't think I've made it all the way through the litany once without cracking up. Maybe that's kind of the point, though. I guess it's hard to be emo when you're talking to your reflection about how fabulous you are.

Shaking my head, I bring the brush up again and notice with an odd lack of surprise that my reflection in the mirror is now twinned.

(A riddle: four girls watch each other, but how many of them are reflections and how many are actually real? It's a trick question, of course, and the answer isn't always the same. Maybe it's not even the right question. But I don't know a better one.)

My hand just keeps moving without even the slightest hitch or pause. I suppose on some level I *should* be surprised; startled even. Maybe I should jump, just a little. But all I do is I do is nod slightly, meeting my -- her -- eyes in the glass.

"Hello, Katherine."

Besides, it's not like I haven't had ample experience with vampires just showing up in my house whenever they please. At least she's just in my room, rather than my bed. This time.

"Elena."

She smiles and holds out a hand. She doesn't say what she wants, but then she doesn’t really need to. I silently hand over the brush and she takes over from where I left off, tutting disapprovingly as the bristles find another knot. Carefully, she uses deft fingers to untangle the offending snarl, then gathers up my wayward tresses and arranges them so they hang neatly down behind me. She presses her hand firmly against my back, just below my shoulder blades, marking how far it comes down.

"Almost time for another haircut," she notes, and I nod in agreement. I've been meaning to go for a few weeks now, but for some reason it hasn't exactly been high on my list of priorities. I remember wondering, stupidly, pettily, back when I was... back when I became a vampire, whether my hair would just stop growing. Katherine laughed at me when I asked her. "Fortunately not," she drawled, amused. "It would make keeping up with the changing fashions rather more of a chore. And I've never particularly cared for wigs."

Sliding her hand across my back, she gathers up the leftmost strands of hair and lifts them to check the ends. I watch her as she works, noting the tiny frown of concentration on her face, the way it almost seems like she's studying each individual strand. Maybe she is. When she sets her mind to a task, no one could ever accuse Katherine of not applying herself. Smoothing that first hank back into place, she picks up the next one and repeats the process.

Distantly, a part of me notes that I'd probably be feeling impatient by now if this was anyone else. Even if it was Caroline, I'd probably be rolling my eyes and wondering loudly if she was going to bring out a magnifying glass, or microscope. But Katherine... I just wait patiently for her to finish.

It's... oddly relaxing.

Releasing the final strands, she purses her lips and hmmms not-quite-disapprovingly. So: passable (for the moment), but in need of attention. I make a mental note to add in a conditioning treatment when I (finally) make an appointment at the salon.

I expect her to start brushing now, but instead she reaches out and lightly touches my cheek with her fingers, trailing them along the side of my neck as she slides her hand down to rest on my shoulder. My skin prickles at her touch, like it's come over goosebumps all of a sudden, the unexpectedness of it making me shiver. There's a knowing glint in her eyes as she leans into me a little, her chest lightly pressing against my back.

"So..." she murmurs, her breath tickling my ear.

I raise my eyebrows. "So?"

She grins, wry and amused, and my breath catches at the utter familiarity of the expression. I almost start to say something -- I don't know exactly what -- but then she starts carding her fingers through my hair and, torn between conflicting sensations, I stay silent.

My mind keeps working, though, even as her fingers move slowly down from root to tip, again and again and again. (Although perhaps my thoughts become a little fuzzier with increasing repetition.) I've seen that expression in mirrors, in photos; it's one I've worn a thousand times, but never really analysed until I gained a new reflection. Until I had to start grappling with questions of nature and nurture, wondering how much of me is, well, me and how much is the doppelganger. And it's at times like this that I can really, truly believe that I actually am someone else, reborn.

This particular grin, I've come to realise, means amusement at *someone*.

Which, in this situation, likely means she's amused at me.

No doubt she'll fill me in on the joke at some point soon, but for now she seems content just to continue running her fingers through my hair, gently and thoroughly seeking out any more tangles I might have missed.

And I'm good with that.

She's certainly much more thorough about it than I was. My eyes drift half-closed as she works, and I can't help the small, pleased noise that rumbles in my throat. The slow, rhythmic stroking, the gentle tugging on my scalp (almost as good as a massage), the feeling of all those knots unravelling under her expert touch...

(If only it was that easy with the tangle of complications that is my life.)

It feels nice.

And that isn't *despite* the fact that it's Katherine doing it. In some ways, some parts of me, I actually think that it's *because* it's her. More and more these days I seem to find her presence oddly... comforting. If anyone had told me back when she first showed up in my life that I would ever think anything of the kind, I would have told them that they were Out Of Their Mind. And yet...

And yet.

It just feels... right.

"Fabulous?" Katherine's voice filters through my happy daze, a whole world of amusement packed into that one word. I force my surprisingly heavy eyelids open.

"Yes," I say, utterly deadpan, wondering how long she was hanging around in my house before actually showing herself. "I am *magnificently* fabulous, darling."

She laughs at my (really bad) attempt at a Greta Garbo impression. (If I'm honest, it ends up sounding more like Arnold Schwarzenegger, but whatever. It has the desired effect.)

"I sense Caroline's touch," she observes.

I shrug. "She was worried about me."

Katherine's smile twists, something stirring in the depths of her eyes. That look isn't one I've ever spotted on my own face, and I haven't yet managed to figure out precisely what it means. Caroline could probably make a good guess at it, if I ask her (and if she's willing to share her insights on our mutual 'it's complicated'), but she isn't here right now.

"Caroline worries about everyone," she says softly, letting her hand fall away from my hair. I frown at her, opening my mouth to complain. (Although I'm not sure whether I'm objecting to her words, or the fact that she's stopped what she was doing.) She smirks as if she knows exactly what's going through my mind, bringing up the brush with exaggerated slowness and starting to ply it on my hair. I find myself starting to relax again. After a few moments, a few steady strokes, she adds: "And so do you."

Her brushstrokes are smooth and even, and I start a little inside to realise that her rhythm matches mine exactly. But then, I suppose that isn't actually all that much of a surprise, not really. Part of me -- a large part, if I'm honest -- is tempted to relax and just enjoy the feeling of the brush whispering silkenly through my hair, but I make myself respond to Katherine's observation.

"Not everyone," I protest half-heartedly, although on whose behalf I'm not exactly sure. And then my thoughts are skipping ahead, mention of Caroline reminding me of something I've been meaning to ask for some time now. Somehow, I've never managed to find a good opportunity to do so. I don't know that this is a *good* opportunity, but it'll have to do. The question has become an itch inside my mind, nagging and insistent.

A few strokes more, and I deliberately raise my eyes to meet the reflection of Katherine's gaze. "What are you doing with Caroline?" I try to keep my words light and careless, like it's a trivial thing, inconsequential; like she manages so effortlessly. I try, but I don't quite succeed. I've always found it hard to disguise when something matters to me.

"What am I doing with you?" Katherine responds, and her tone is lighter than air compared with the weighty concern in my own words.

"That's not the same!" The protest bursts out of me before I can stop it. As if by coincidence, the hairbrush snags in my hair, yanking sharply and painfully at my scalp as Katherine works it free with perhaps a little more force than is strictly necessary. "Ow!"

"So many tangles," she tuts, disapprovingly. No apology, of course. That would imply it was something other than deliberate. I let it go for now, though, because she's still speaking. "In any case," she observes, in exactly the same tone. "You're asking the wrong question."

I tilt my head slightly, rearranging my features into an expression of mild interest. "What's the right question?" I wonder, as if it's just a matter of idle curiosity.

She flashes a quick smile, stroking one hand over my hair and down my back in the way she knows I like. The silence stretches, but I don't press for an answer to my question. Sometimes, with Katherine, it pays to be demanding, but this doesn't feel like one of those times. Besides, if I push her now she might stop what she's doing. Her fingers linger a little on the back of my neck, kneading and massaging, the firm-yet-gentle pressure easing a tension I hadn't even realised was there. I sigh softly.

"You should be asking what Caroline is doing with me."

I blink, drawing myself back from the brink of bliss to consider the difference between two questions. "Okay," I say slowly, willing to play along for the moment. "What's Caroline doing with you?"

Mischief dances in her eyes and I know I'm not getting an answer this time even before she says: "Maybe you'd better ask her."

"Maybe I will," I say, but she already seems to have lost interest.

A few more passes with the brush, and then she steps back to consider her handiwork. "You're done," she pronounces.

"Thank you," I say, holding my hand out over my shoulder. She obligingly hands the brush over, and we change places as smoothly as if our actions have been choreographed.

Katherine's hair is up in a deceptively simple French knot. (When she's not being me, or otherwise camouflaging herself in modern fashions, I've noticed she has a distinct preference for complicated, old-fashioned hairstyles. The artifice of it suits her. Myself, I tend to prefer something a little simpler and easier to maintain.) I raise my hands towards it, a question in my eyes.

"Let me," she says, doing *something* with her fingers that simultaneously unbinds the knot and sends her hair cascading down her back in a shimmering wave. I can't help but be a little envious. She shakes it out, then turns to look over her shoulder so that our eyes meet directly, rather than through the mirror. "There you go."

"Thanks." Of course, I can't brush her hair when she's twisted all around like this. I could just ask her to turn back around, I suppose, but some imp of the perverse takes hold of me. (Perhaps it's contagious.) Instead, I put my hand on the base of her skull, applying pressure to the back of her neck until she turns back around.

"You could have asked," she notes. But the little smirk on her lips tells me she's anything but displeased.

"I thought that's what I just did," I reply, and I sound so much like *her* that I almost scare myself.

"Apparently," she sighs, stretching her neck and shoulders exaggeratedly.

I frown at her moving back. "Are you going to stand still anytime soon? I can't do this if you're wriggling around."

"Well, since you ask so nicely..." With one final stretch, she settles into a comfortable position, gesturing grandly with one hand. "You may begin."

"I'm honoured," I say dryly. She just smiles regally, so I roll my eyes and get to work.

Honestly, though, it isn't exactly a chore. There's something oddly soothing about seeking out the knots and tangles, unravelling them one strand at a time, and then steadily drawing the brush through the soft tresses. Maybe my fingers aren't as deft at this as hers, and perhaps I don't have so gentle a hand, but somehow she doesn't seem to mind.

Some time passes while I give all of my attention to the task at hand. The rhythmic, repetitive motion of my hands is almost hypnotic, soothing away any lingering tension not already banished by Katherine's ministrations. In a placid, detached way, I realise that I'm breathing in time with my movements. In on the upswing, out on the downstroke. In and out, up and down. A languid wave of amusement ripples across the surface of my thoughts. This is better than any yoga class or meditation training. Maybe stressed yuppies should try brushing each other's hair instead of hitting the gym.

"What are you smiling at?" Katherine's voice, although soft, startles me out of my reverie. I jerk my head up to see her watching me in the mirror.

"Oh, nothing really." I'm obscurely pleased by the fact that, despite being startled, I managed to maintain my steady brushing rhythm with barely a hitch.

Katherine is still watching me, a considering look in her eyes. She opens her mouth to speak again, but instead of the half-expected request for further information (which I'd probably answer, unless I was just feeling contrary), she says: "I saw Stefan today."

I blink, temporarily nonplussed. This time I do pause briefly before picking up the beat again. "Oh?" Much to my relief, my voice is steady.

"He came looking for me."

I see the glint of almost malicious amusement in her eyes. It's another game, just like all the others.

She wants me to guess what happened. She wants me to ask her. And I'm fairly certain that she even wants me to *know*. But she'll only tell me if I play along and ask the question hovering on my lips.

I briefly consider deviating from my part in her little script and just letting it go, but it's a fairly one-sided struggle. Of course it is.

She knows me far too well.

"And?"

Now her lips twist in a slow smile; pleased, but with an edge to it. "He wanted to warn me away from you."

I frown. "I thought you said you were being discreet."

"I was. I am." Her shoulders roll in a careless shrug that turns into a fluid stretch, her movements slow enough not to disturb the brush as it glides through her hair. "But the Salvatore brothers tend to... pay attention to things that involve you." A full breath's pause. "And me. It was more or less inevitable they'd find out sooner or later that we were spending time together. Although..." A trace of annoyance crosses her face. "Later would have been more convenient."

"So... What did he say?"

"First of all, he demanded to know what I was doing with you. Then he demanded to know if I was the reason you've been avoiding him. Finally, he demanded that I stay away from you and from Mystic Falls." Lowering her voice as if confiding a secret, she adds: "He was very *demanding*."

I suppose that means things went... interestingly. That their encounter was violent pretty much goes without saying, but the rest of it... I can't help feeling a stab of jealousy. Over whom, I don't exactly know. I'm not sure I really want to find out. Katherine, naturally, gives me a knowing smirk, as if she's fully aware of what's going through my mind. Was that her reason -- well, one of them -- for bringing this up? To make me jealous? And did she deliberately push Stefan into being 'demanding'? Neither would surprise me.

Katherine always does like to provoke those who are bound to her.

Abruptly, I can feel the weight of it all pressing down on me, suffocating me. The secrets, the lies. The not-knowing. I thought I'd -- we'd -- found a balance, but maybe we're just in freefall waiting for the kick.

Je ne regrette rien?

No, I am made of regrets right now. And something has to give.

"Things can't go on like this."

I only realise I've spoken the words aloud when Katherine replies.

"So change them," she says, matter-of-factly. Like it's just that easy. Like changing who I am is as straightforward, as simple, as cutting my hair. But then for her, maybe it is. They say necessity is the mother of invention; maybe determination is the mother of reinvention. And she's been running for so long...

Katherine clears her throat, interrupting my train of thought. When our eyes meet, she looks meaningfully at the brush, arrested mid-motion during my distracted musings. I take the hint and get back to work.

"Thank you," she murmurs, only a little sarcastically.

"You're welcome," I reply, in the same tone. It looks like this conversation is over, at least for now. I can't deny a part of me is almost relieved at the derailment. I focus all my attention on brushing Katherine's hair, trying to lose myself in the rhythm once more. I don't quite achieve the same state of zen as I managed earlier, but it does help, calming the turmoil in my mind to manageable levels. And, as a side-benefit of my dedicated focus, I fancy I'm doing a pretty good job of making sure that Katherine enjoys my ministrations as much as I enjoyed hers.

"Mmmm," she says, arching her back a little as if to confirm my theory. I preen a little at her response, but then she has to go and spoil it all by adding: "I see I've trained you well, young one."

Impulsively, pettily, I twist my wrist a little on the downstroke, tangling the brush so I end up pulling her hair. She leans back into me, her breath hissing sharply through her teeth, and I feel an instinctive apology bubbling up. (I was only paying her back for earlier; I didn't mean to actually hurt her.) But the apology dissolves again unspoken when I get a good look at her face.

Katherine is... Her eyes are black, practically all pupil, but they're not the sunken pits that indicate a vampire is currently in the throes of blood lust. No, this is an entirely different kind of lust.

Apparently, I don't need to apologise after all.

And it suddenly seems *really* bright in here.

Impulsively, I wrap an arm around her middle, pulling her against me so that our bodies are flush and tight. We fit together perfectly. Tilting my head forward just a little, I press my lips against the soft skin of her neck, laying a trail of kisses from just behind her ear to the junction of her neck and shoulder. From there, I work my way up again, occasionally punctuating the kisses with the light press of teeth.

Katherine makes a low rumbling noise deep in her throat, part purr and part growl. The sound of it makes me shiver inside.

"Oh yes," she murmurs, "you are definitely learning..."

I bite just a little harder.

"You," I breathe against her neck, kissing the slightly reddened area, "are incredibly patronising sometimes. Do you know that?"

Her answering laugh is perhaps a touch breathless. "Something of the sort has been said before," she agrees. "And I think perhaps you've finished brushing my hair for the time being."

I pause in what I'm doing, smiling into Katherine's neck. "Oh, I don't know," I muse, artlessly. "Isn't it supposed to be a hundred strokes before bedtime? I think I lost c-"

The word turns into a yelp as Katherine moves with blurring speed, and suddenly *she's* the one holding *me*. The room reels around us and I'm bent over backwards so far that the ends of my now-gleaming hair are brushing the ground. Katherine's arms are the only things keeping me from falling.

"Katherine!" I protest, my voice somewhat higher and squeakier than I would like.

"Elena," she purrs, looking at me in a way that makes me forget why I was even objecting in the first place. "I think it's time for bed, don't you?"

And when my answer emerges from a suddenly-tight throat, I honestly can't tell my voice apart from hers.

"Yes."


	2. Overture - Harmony

"So, where are we going?"

Elena flicks her gaze over at you before returning it to the road, an amused smile playing about her lips.

"It doesn't matter how many times you ask, Caroline," she says. "I'm not going to tell you."

"But-" you start to object, only to be interrupted.

"It's a surprise," she says, gently but firmly. "You'll find out when we get there."

You pout, but she doesn't relent, so you turn and look for clues in the scenery racing past the windows. Trees, trees, trees, more trees and, just for a bit of variety, yet another tree. You briefly regret not paying more attention back when you left Mystic Falls behind, but you were too busy elaborating on the new cheerleading routine you've been putting together. It's been so long since Elena's shown any interest in cheerleading, that you maybe got a little carried away talking about it. Come to think about it, maybe her questions were just a cunning attempt to distract you from noticing important details like where you were heading.

Well, it seems to have succeeded!

You shoot her a sidelong glance, frowning, then brighten as you catch sight of a road sign looming rapidly up ahead. Unfortunately, it isn't as helpful as you'd like. The names of the towns help you orient yourself, but none of them stand out as an obvious choice of destination. You turn in your seat, watching the sign recede in the distance as you rack your brains to try to recall if Elena said anything that could be a clue.

Nope, nothing.

Turning back to Elena, you start to ask another question.

"No," she says, before you barely get a word out. "Just sit back and enjoy the ride. It's not too much further now."

You sigh deeply, the sound as long-suffering and put-upon as you can make it.

"At least tell me we're not going for a picnic in the woods," you mutter.

"We-ell..." Elena looks distinctly... sheepish.

"No!" You sit upright, torn between humour and horror. "Not in these *shoes*!" You gesture wildly, your hands fluttering like birds as your voice rises in pitch and volume. "These are genuine Louboutin knock-offs. Have you even seen the heels? And it's practically dark already, and..." You trail off as you finally notice the contortions Elena's face is going through, trying vainly to keep her amusement inside. "Oh, very *funny* Elena." But your voice is soft, and you can feel a smile curving your lips even as you try to hold a glower.

Elena gives up on trying to contain her mirth. "Oh, if only you could have seen your face," she chortles. "But no, I'm not that cruel. I remember what happened that time I made you come hiking with me."

"You *said* it would be a gentle walk," you huff, settling back into your seat.

"It was!" she protests.

"It was straight up a mountain!"

"Now you're exaggerating. It was only a slight slope."

"I am not! And there were *insects*."

"A few mosquitoes, that's all. Maybe an ant or two."

"Two *thousand*, maybe. And poison ivy!"

"I did tell you not to sit there."

You glare at her. Just because she's right doesn't mean you can't be righteously indignant.

"You were unclear," you sniff. "And anyway, mud! Gallons of mud! Slimy, horrible, disgusting mud!"

She inclines her head. "There was mud," she agrees. "But then, it was raining much of the day."

"And you dragged me out anyway!"

Elena shrugs. "I asked you if you wanted to go back. You said you were happy to soldier on." She glances over at you, a wry smile on her lips. "I was kind of impressed at your determination, actually."

"You were?"

"Well, yes. You're not exactly at ease away from the comforts of civilisation. To tell you the truth, I was kind of surprised you agreed to come out there with me in the first place."

You're silent for a moment or two, thinking back to that time. It wasn't long after Elena's parents died. She was doing her best to keep on keeping on, but you could see the cracks beginning to show. It wasn't like she didn't have other friends, closer friends, even, but they didn't seem to realise what she needed. Not sympathy, not solicitous offers of help, and not space, but... presence. The simple reassurance that she wasn't alone.

"You asked," you say, simply.

The silence stretches between you for a few long moments, but it's comfortable. Comforting, even. Not all communication requires words.

"Well, you have to admit that the view from the top was worth a few insect bites, a little poison ivy rash and a lot of mud," she says softly.

A sudden flash of memory: Elena looking out over the falls below, sunlight breaking through the clouds to paint the scene in glimmering gold. A sudden, sharp gasp, like beauty was the last thing she expected to see, perhaps not ever again. The shock in her eyes softening to wonder. Her trembling, outstretched hand. And then, finally, her smile.

It was worth it. It was all worth it.

But a grudging: "I suppose," is all you say aloud. Suddenly, you realise that that you can hear the regular clicking of the blinker, and the car is slowing, turning into a side-road. Which must mean... "Are we nearly there?" You lean forward, peering interestedly out into the gloom of the evening, your searching eyes registering the sight of lights and buildings up head.

"Almost," Elena confirms. She heads straight for what seems to be a commercial area. You think you have a vague memory of maybe visiting here before, maybe shopping, or because it wasn't Mystic Falls, or even just passing through on the way to somewhere else, but nothing about it really stuck in your mind. The car slows as Elena cranes her neck, looking up at the storefronts with a frown of concentration. "It should be just around... Aha!"

Before you can get more than a glimpse at the building in question -- a restaurant, you think, but you don't get the chance to read the sign -- the vehicle is already pulling into a car park.

"So, this is it?" you ask, as Elena turns the engine off.

"This is it," she says, smiling.

"Great!" You feel a tingle of anticipation as you unclip your seatbelt and pick up your handbag. Due to... complications, the two of you have been keeping your relationship a secret from everybody. (Well, except Katherine, but she's a special complication all of her own.) Which is fine, really, but sometimes it can feel just a tiny bit claustrophobic. But now you're actually going on a real date! Outside of Elena's house!

This is going to be a good evening, you can feel it.

You start to reach for the doorhandle, but Elena stops you by the simple expedient of leaning over and kissing you. It's gentle and soft and it quite takes your breath away. She smiles against your lips.

"Stay there," she murmurs. "I want to do this properly."

"What do you-?"

"Stay," she repeats, the sparkle in her eyes silencing any protest you might want to make. Not that you want to, really. So you wait more-or-less patiently while she retrieves her bag from the back seat and gets out of the car. Maybe you fidget a little bit as she fusses with something-or-other before walking over to your side of the car, but that's only to be expected.

You look up as she opens your door. You're ready with some witticism about wondering if she'd forgotten you, but the remark dies unspoken on your lips. This is the first time you've gotten a good look at her since she picked you up a few hours ago. A little black dress, timeless and elegant. Coupled with the silver accents of her wrap and shoes, it's like she's wrapped in a piece of midnight. Her hair swirls about her shoulders in a silken cascade, her lips full and red, curved in a smile that's all her own, not a trace of the other to be found. And her eyes... Smoky and dark, they look at you as if you're the only person in the whole wide world.

"Miss Caroline Forbes," she says, holding out a hand. "Would you do me the honour of being my date for the evening?"

"Of course," you breathe, letting her draw you to your feet.

You stand there for a moment or two, hands clasped, looking deep into each other's eyes, then Elena's eyes widen.

"Oh!" she says, releasing you to delve into her bag. "I almost forgot." She smiles at you and it looks almost shy. "I got you this," she says, holding out a small box. "Will you wear it? I mean, it's okay if you don't want to. Maybe it is a little corny..."

You look down at the box, a clear plastic affair containing... flowers? A wreath of some kind? Oh!

"A corsage?"

Elena nods, looking sheepish. "I know you like that kind of thing." 'Maybe a couple of years ago,' you think to yourself, but there's no way you're going to say that aloud. Not when it obviously means so much to her. "And I thought-"

"It's lovely," you interrupt, before she can start babbling again. You smile at her, holding out your wrist. "Will you put it on for me?"

She looks at you searchingly, but seems convinced by whatever it is she sees in your eyes. Her answering smile lights up her face. And maybe it does look just a little tacky sitting there on your wrist, and maybe you know you're going to spend the entire evening worrying about damaging or losing it, but if it makes Elena happy, then it makes you happy. After all, it's the thought that counts.

Elena holds out an arm, and you take it, laughing. "You really are going the whole nine yards," you observe, letting her lead you towards the restaurant.

She shrugs. "I want tonight to be special."

You smile, hugging her arm to your body. "It will be."

There's a moment of confusion when you get to the door. She tries to open it for you, but you're at the wrong side of her and have to drop her arm, awkwardly shuffling past her to slip inside. Then you step to one side to let her past -- so she can speak to the maitre d', being the one who made the reservations -- but she's reaching for your hand again and you end up bashing into each other. You both freeze, then start to apologise, then finally just burst out laughing.

"Let's try this again," says Elena. She holds out her arm, her eyebrows raised. You glance around, feeling oddly... guilty. Miserably, you can't help but notice how the maitre d' is surreptitiously watching you, clearly fighting to keep a straight face.

"Are you sure?" you whisper, the words barely even loud enough for super hearing to pick up.

Her eyes narrow, her jaw set in that stubborn line you've come to know so well. She tilts her head towards her crooked arm, clearly saying without words that the two of you are going to get it *right* this time. Well, when she puts it like that... Not without some misgivings, you take her arm again, and she leads you up to the maitre d'.

"Good evening," she says, brightly."

"Good evening, ladies," he replies smoothly, bringing his expression under control as if he was never in danger of laughing hysterically at your antics.

"We have a reservation in the name of Elena Gilbert. A table for two at seven-thirty."

The maitre d' looks down at the sheet of paper clipped to the lectern in front of him. "Ah, yes," he says, scribbling something on the paper. "If you'll just follow me..." Picking up a couple of menus -- fancy, leather-bound affairs, you notice -- he leads the two of you to a table. Setting the menus down, he swiftly pulls out the chairs and lights a candle in the centre of the table. It doesn't really add much in the way of ambient light, but the effect is nice. Once the two of you are seated, he smiles and says: "Your waitress will be with you shortly to take your drink orders and answer any questions you might have about the menu. Have a good evening, ladies." And with that, he takes his leave.

Elena smiles at you. "So, what do you think?" she asks, softly.

"It looks nice."

You look around, checking out the decor. It does look nice, decked out in muted earth tones and adorned with a great deal of natural wood and stone. The overall effect is quite soothing, although you think maybe the giant water feature in the centre of the room might be a little much. And you're not entirely sure how safe it is to have a roaring fire going with all the flammable stuff around. Still, it is quite impressive.

Maybe a little too impressive.

A faint sensation of unease settles over you. Distantly, you realise you're fiddling restlessly with the corsage. You make yourself stop.

"Actually, it looks... expensive," you say, carefully. You meet Elena's eyes, eyebrows raised enquiringly. "How are we affording this?"

Elena sits up straighter in her seat, returning your gaze steadily. "I've got it covered. You don't need to worry about it."

You frown. "You can't use your savings on something like this." On you. "It's a lovely thought, truly, but I don't want-"

"It's okay," she says firmly, although the effect is somewhat spoiled when she drops her gaze to the menu in front of her. "It's one of Katherine's lessons. Life is so much easier when you have money."

'Oh,' you think. So, Katherine is footing the bill for this little excursion.

Other thoughts cross your mind: of debts and obligations and other things probably best left unsaid. Especially on a date. So you bite your tongue and take a breath, and instead, ask: "So, what's this place called? I didn't catch the name."

"It's called 'Elementary'." At least she has the grace to look a little embarrassed about that. You raise your eyebrows, but she's already hurrying on. "It's gotten some very good reviews. And, well..." She shrugs. "I thought we'd find the clientele a little more... welcoming than some of the places at home."

You frown. "What do you mean?"

In response, Elena's eyes flick over to one of the other tables, where a couple are holding hands and staring deep into each other's eyes. They're both men.

"Oh. Cool." You smile at her, feeling strangely lighter. It's... kind of nice not to have to worry about other people's reactions. Almost as liberating as knowing that none of them are likely to run and tattle to anyone you know.

This really is going to be a good evening.

 

"So then, Matt looks at me, utterly confused, and says: 'But I thought *you* wanted to see this band?' And it turns out that we'd suffered through the worst gig in history for hours because each of us mistakenly thought the other *really* wanted to be there. Needless to say, we didn't stick around any longer." Elena shakes her head, laughing. You join in, even though Matt isn't exactly the most comfortable topic of conversation for you. You cast around for a natural segue, your eyes brightening as you hit on something.

"Hey, remember the time that guitarist invited you, me and Bonnie to that party?"

"I remember," Elena says, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "We told our moms we were going to a late night movie marathon and then crashing at yours."

"My mom was working that night," you remember. "So she wasn't going to be able to check up on us."

"We stopped at a gas station to change into our party clothes."

"That bathroom was *nasty*." You give an exaggerated shudder at the memory.

"Yeah," she agrees, pulling a face. "To this day, I'm amazed that we didn't catch something horrible from that place."

"Pity we didn't think to get some gas while we were there."

Elena shares a rueful look with you. "I can't believe not one of the three of us thought to check."

"I can," you snort. "We were young and stupid."

"It was only two years ago!" Elena protests, laughing.

You shrug, grinning back at her. "As I said."

"We drove around for hours, but we couldn't find the party."

"Maybe we misread the address?"

"It *was* scrawled on a napkin by a drunk musician in a dark bar," Elena points out. "Frankly, I'm amazed any of it was even vaguely legible."

"Bonnie tried to claim that she knew something would go wrong."

Elena frowns. "Wasn't she the one who dragged us out there in the first place?"

You blink. "She was?" You cast your mind back, trying to remember. "She was! She was the one who was flirting with that guy in the first place! She thought he was hot."

"Was he?" Elena wonders.

You laugh, shaking your head. "I don't remember."

"Me neither." She chuckles along with you, and then you both fall silent, the same -- you're pretty sure -- stricken look on both of your faces. You miss Bonnie; a sudden wave of emotion so sharp it hurts. You almost say the words aloud, but you bite them back. Not tonight. Not on a date. Not on the one evening when it's just the two of you.

No baggage, no complications, no drama. Just you and Elena.

You take a sip of water to clear the sudden lump from your throat. "We argued," you say, plastering the smile back on your face.

"We did," Elena admits. Her expression lightens. "But we made up pretty quickly."

Your smile starts to feel more natural. "Didn't we bond over blaming that stupid guitarist?"

"Yes! Well, it *was* his fault. If he could only write legibly..."

"Or not hit on drunk sixteen-year-olds in the first place."

"That too," she agrees. "Not that identifying the culprit actually helped us."

"No, we were completely lost by that point, weren't we?"

Elena nods. "Completely and utterly."

"Didn't we think about just deciding to crash in the next motel we came to?"

"Yes, but we didn't have enough cash on us. And if one of us used a credit card, our parents would see the charge on the statement and might ask some awkward questions."

"Like... what were we doing staying the night at a motel in the middle of nowhere when we were supposed to be safely tucked in at my house." It's funny, thinking back to that night, it seemed so... important. Like it would really and truly be the end of the world if your parents found out. Like being yelled at a little and grounded was the worst thing *ever*.

You know better now.

"Of course, that's when we ran out of gas..." Elena leans back in her chair, shaking her head. Possibly at the folly of youth. "Tell you what, though," she adds. "I've never run out of gas again."

"Me neither." A thought occurs to you, and you cast a suspicious look her way. "You did check your gas level before we set off, right?"

The expression on her face is suddenly horrified, one hand flying to her mouth as if to contain the shocked gasp. You roll your eyes at her antics and she grins back at you. "It's fine. We have more than enough gas to get back home." Her eyes sparkle mischievously as she continues: "Even if we get a little lost on the way back."

"We'd better not get lost," you mutter. "These shoes are *not* made for walking."

Now it's her turn to roll her eyes. "I'm not going to get lost."

You blink innocently. "Isn't that what you said when we went on our road trip to that music festival?"

"That's not fair! You-" She breaks off, frowning, as you feel your teasing expression melt into something softer. "What?"

"You're beautiful," you say, simply. The slight flush in her cheeks, the way her eyes flash indignantly. The way her hair gleams as she tosses her head, the way her hands move when she gets worked up about something. It's all those things, and more. And right now, in this moment, it's like you're falling in love with her all over again.

(It's going to hurt so much when you lose her.)

(There's no way something this good, something this perfect, can possibly last. The one constant of your life is that things fall apart.)

(But it's okay, it's alright, it's just *fine*. You've already had more than you ever dreamed possible. Even if this thing between you can't hold, at least it's lasted this long. And you're just so happy right now.)

(You just can't afford to believe that you and Elena will beat the odds.)

"Thank you," Elena whispers, her eyes shining like stars. She reaches out and gently caresses your cheek with one hand. "*You're* beautiful, you know," she says.

You're not sure who moves first, but suddenly the two of you are kissing. You're kissing hungrily, greedily. It's like you're suffocating and she's air, like you're parched and she's water. You can't get enough. You don't care that there's a table in the way; it barely registers when your elbow clips a glass and almost sends it flying. All that matters is her mouth on yours.

All that matters is this moment, when everything is absolutely *perfect*.

When you finally break apart, you're both panting. You feel dizzy, she looks dazed. Distantly, you're aware of a faint round of applause; a couple of cheers and whistles. Ordinarily you'd be mortified, but that doesn't seem to matter right now. You and Elena look at each other.

"Let's get out of here," Elena murmurs.

 

On the drive back, you feel... conflicted. On the one hand, you want Elena so badly you can practically taste it. And the sooner you get back to Mystic Falls, the sooner you can be in bed. On the other hand, this evening you've felt freer than you have for a long time. Not having to worry about what people will think. Not having to worry about certain people finding out. It's been kind of like heaven.

Part of you wishes that that it didn't have to come to an end.

Suddenly, you're sliding in your seat as, without so much as a word of warning, Elena puts the car into a U-turn. Now, you're heading back the way you came, back to the town you just left. Confused, you turn to look at her.

"What are you-?"

"How would you like to not go back to Mystic Falls tonight?" You just blink at her, suddenly and surprisingly tongue-tied. She smiles at you, but there's something serious in her eyes. A question. A... need. "The waitress recommended a local hotel. I know we weren't planning on staying here, but I don't want... I just thought..." She heaves a great sigh, clearly trying to stop herself from babbling. "I know I should have asked before turning us around. I can turn us around again, if-"

Finally, you find your voice. "Elena."

She stops rambling and glances over at you. "Yes?"

You smile at her, and you're sure your heart must be in your eyes, that you must be radiating pure happiness. "I would love to spend the night here with you."

Her answering smile lights up the night. "Good," she says, softly.

You ache to take her hand, to caress her cheek, to run your fingers through her hair. To kiss her. To feel her skin against yours. Unfortunately, you think that giving into your urges might do very bad things to her driving ability. 'You'll just have to be patient,' you tell yourself. You can wait a little longer.

As long as it is only a little longer.

"How far is the hotel?" you ask, wondering if she can hear the impatience in your voice; if it strikes an answering chord in her.

"It's a few streets over from the restaurant, so probably not more than five or ten minutes away."

"Okay, thanks." You settle back in your seat to wait as patiently as you can. A few minures later, however, something occurs to you. "Oh no!"

"What?" Elena sounds concerned. "Do you need to go home after all?"

"No, nothing like that. It's just..." You shrug your shoulders. "I don't have a change of underwear, or pyjamas, or a toothbrush or anything like that."

"I would have been impressed if you did," Elena observes wryly, alhough relief is plain on her face. "Slightly scared, maybe, but impressed." She slows the car right down as you turn into the commercial district again, her eyes flickering from one shop front to another. "Luckily, we can solve this problem..."

A few shops later, the two of you have everything you think you'll need for an overnight stay. You even managed to get a change of clothing for tomorrow. It's sportswear, but it'll have to do. It's not like there were many options at this time of night, and you do not want to have to wear your dress back to Mystic Falls. 'Been there, done that, *so* not doing that again.'

Elena turns to you as you toss the bags onto the back seat of the car. "Ready?" You nod. "Then let's see if I can figure out these directions..."

Fortunately, the hotel really isn't that difficult to find. A few more minutes (an eternity) later, and the two of you are standing in your room, looking at a truly ginormous bed.

"Wow," Elena murmurs. She takes a few steps towards it and stops, looking back at you over her shoulder. Her eyes are large and dark, with depths vaster than any ocean. It's almost like she's looking right into you. You feel exposed and, oddly, almost shy. "Wow," she says again, and her voice is low and husky. A shiver runs through you at the naked appreciation in the word. Once again she seems to have left you speechless, breathless.

But you're not feeling shy any more.

You move towards her.

She meets you half-way

As you twine your bodies together, she leans forward and whispers in your ear. "Let's go to bed."


	3. Overture - Counterpoint

Katherine sits in an armchair facing the door. A book is open on her lap, but she hasn't turned a page in at least five minutes. Instead, her eyes are fixed firmly on the narrow gap between the bottom edge of the door and the bare, polished floorboards. As she watches, she also listens, her ears tuned to the many sounds of the building.

The footsteps of the proprietress on the floor below. (She always makes herself a cup of tea at around this time, just before her favourite soap comes on the television.)

The clunk and rattle of the boiler. (It's old but serviceable, and shows no signs of tampering. There's no danger of explosion or suffocation just yet.)

The rustling sound of the leaves on the trees and bushes outside. (The tree in front of the window isn't sturdy enough to be easily climbed, and the foliage means there isn't a clear line of sight on this room from outside.)

As far as she can tell, there's absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Nevertheless...

'It's time,' she thinks to herself.

Putting the book aside, Katherine crosses the room in a few quick steps and drags her suitcase out from under the bed. With one fluid motion, she straightens and swings the small case up to rest on the duvet, unzipping it and flinging the lid open. A quick glance is sufficient for her to inventory the contents. (Well, the visible ones. But she doesn't want to have to spend time on unpacking and repacking, so a few quick pokes and prods will have to serve to check the hidden compartments. All seems as it should be to this cursory inspection, but she makes a mental note to do a more thorough check when she can.)

Nodding in satisfaction, she retrieves the few items stowed in the wardrobe, dresser and bathroom, packing them neatly and efficiently into the case, which she zips shut again and stands by the door. A shoulder bag soon joins it. Putting on her boots and jacket, she picks up the book from the chair and pauses for a moment, weighing the options.

Then she sits back down.

'It's almost time,' she amends.

If there's anything that all her years in transit have taught her, it's that running is almost as much art as it is science. Regardless of how many spies you have, or how alert you are, sometimes it just comes down to instinct. Sometimes you just *know*. The real trick lies in learning to separate instinct from paranoia.

Is it paranoia if they really are out to get you?

Actually, sometimes the answer to that question is yes. Like grouse driven out of hiding by a hunter's dog, sometimes running too soon can be just as dangerous as running too late. But neither are mistakes that Katherine tends to make these days.

Not for a long, long time.

This isn't a bad set up, as hiding places go. The bed and breakfast might not be the most palatial of residences, but it's certainly comfortable. Mrs Hendrickson, the proprietress, is perfectly lovely, with a truly admirable ability to keep herself to herself and not pry into her guests' business. The fact that she actually lives here herself is an added bonus -- it means that vampires must be invited across the threshold. Once Katherine was safely past, it was a simple matter to compel her against issuing any more invitations. So, in theory, Katherine should be perfectly safe here.

In theory.

Her pulse is pounding in her ears, her whole body seeming to tingle with anticipation. All of her nerve endings are alive, and she feels like her skin should be crackling with energy. It's the adrenaline rush that always hits before a run. Comfortably familiar, endlessly thrilling. Adrenaline... and something more. Something that makes her breath hitch a little in her throat, her fingers tracing restless circles on the arm of the chair. Her face feels hot and flushed, as if from fever or a slap. The thrill of the chase; of being chased.

There's nothing on earth quite like it.

Sometimes, the waiting is the worst part. And sometimes, it just heightens the...

A knock on the front door, sudden and shocking; a bolt of lightning right to her heart.

...anticipation.

This is it. The knowledge is as certain as if it was carved in stone: her pursuer has caught up with her.

'Finally,' she thinks, wryly.

There's waiting and there's *waiting*. She was almost starting to become impatient.

Mrs Hendrickson's voice, cursing softly to herself at the interruption to her planned viewing. Her heavy footsteps as she hurries over to the door.

Katherine gets smoothly to her feet. Although outwardly calm, her heart is racing.

"Yes?"

Katherine can't help but admire the way that Mrs Hendrickson keeps her annoyance from her voice. She even manages to sound warm and welcoming.

An electric shiver runs the length of Katherine's spine. This is it: the end game. Not long now...

"I'm terribly sorry to bother you," comes a familiar voice from outside, "but-"

Katherine stops listening. Her pursuer *will* get into the house. She doesn't need to know the details. All she needs to know is that this is her cue to move.

She loves this part.

Sometimes, she thinks it's when she's running that she feels most alive. And cutting it *this* fine, knowing that there's a good chance she actually *will* be caught...

That's almost the best feeling of all.

It's the little things that make life worth living.

Sliding her bag onto her shoulder, she drops the book inside. (She would just leave the book behind, but she's just gotten to a good part and doesn't want to have to go to the trouble of tracking down another copy.) She reaches for the handle of her suitcase, but abruptly changes her mind. Turning on her heel, she steps into the small en suite bathroom and quickly touches up her make-up.

Just because a girl's on the run, that's no excuse for not looking her best.

(Truth to tell, she is cutting this much closer than is her usual habit, but then these are rather special circumstances.)

Footsteps on the stairs now, too light and quick to belong to Mrs Hendrickson. It looks like that route is out. The window it is, then.

Blowing a kiss towards her reflection (she really must share this experience with Elena one of these days), Katherine snatches up her suitcase and bounds across the room. She unlatches the casement and eases it upwards, the oil she'd applied earlier making the movement smooth and practically soundless. She briefly considers throwing the suitcase out ahead of her, but instead decides to hang onto it for the time being.

The sound of a key in the door lock almost surprises her. She was half-expecting the door to simply be wrenched off its hinges. In retrospect, however, she isn't surprised at all.

She shimmies her upper body out through the narrow -- but just large enough -- gap, starting to twist so she can slide her legs through...

Hands on her back, fingers digging in and *twisting*, securing their grip before she can shrug out of the jacket. If she had proper leverage, she could easily break free, but not like this, half-in and half-out. So instead, she relaxes completely, letting go of the window frame. Either her weight will drag her forward, forcing the other to let go (or fall with her), or...

She's yanked sharply backwards, into the room, away from the promise of freedom. Her head smacks hard into the window frame, so that for a split second or so fireworks bloom across her field of vision. It isn't enough (not nearly enough) to actually knock her out, but she makes herself stay boneless and limp, offering no resistance as she is dragged back through the gap. When she's more or less all the way through, she braces her legs and *shoves* with all her might, sending the both of them slamming into the floor with Katherine on top. She makes sure her elbows precede her, lips twisting in what could probably be called a smile as her assailant's breath is driven out of her in a satisfying whoosh.

It's all about leverage, after all. Leverage and momentum.

She just has time to start to wonder if that's the end of the fight, when the body under her is moving, twisting and bucking her off to the side. She goes with the motion, rolling over onto her front, but before she can get her legs under her and spring to her feet, a weight smacks into her back, pinning her to the floor. The smell of varnish is heavy in her nostrils as her face is pressed into the boards. She snarls and scrabbles, but can't get enough leverage to dislodge her assailant, now captor.

"Will you stop *squirming*!" huffs an annoyed voice by her ear.

Katherine's response is to slam her head backwards, but it meets nothing but empty air. Apparently her pursuer is already wise to that trick. A tight, fierce smile curves her lips. Good: this isn't over yet.

"Make me," she drawls back, redoubling her efforts.

There's a yelp from above her as she twists and wriggles, the weight shifting suddenly as Katherine throws her body from side to side as far as it'll go. She starts to push upwards, only to find the movement checked as the sleeve of her jacket snags on something, probably a nail that's either worked loose from the floorboards or was never properly flattened down in the first place. Certainly, it's sharp where it digs into the skin of her wrist. Whatever it is, it gives Katherine an idea.

The intruder seems intent on simply restraining Katherine, rather than... anything else.

And, really, where's the fun in that?

So she changes the rules of the game.

(Of course this is a game. It's all a game, even when the stakes are life and death. Maybe even especially when it's life and death on the line.)

The weight of her captor is suddenly pinning her again, although she's twisted around enough during all the squirming that she's now on her back. That's just fine. In fact, that's even better.

Continuing to at least put up the appearance of a struggle, she lets herself be forced back down so her shoulder-blades are pressing almost painfully into the floor. Using the motion for cover, she presses her wrist down and drags it across the sharp point of the nail (or whatever it is), feeling the sting of skin tearing and the sudden dampness of blood. Not an artery (probably just as well -- getting blood out of these floorboards would not be an easy task), but maybe a large vein. Good enough for her purposes. Yanking her arm back sharply -- the sleeve of her jacket rips as she wrenches it free, but she can always get a new jacket -- she whips it around and waves her bloodied wrist in front of her assailant's face.

"Is that all you've got?" she challenges.

She smirks just *so*, gazing directly into wide, shocked eyes that darken even as she watches. For a moment, she thinks this is going to be enough. And it almost is. Almost. But not quite.

So she twists free of the suddenly loosened grip, send the other person flying backwards with a hard shove. Katherine isn't far behind her, grabbing her throat with one hand and slamming her up against the wall. (A frisson of deja vu.) Her other hand -- the one with the bloodied wrist -- she brings up to lightly rest on one soft cheek.

"You'd be so much stronger," she purrs, "if you weren't fighting yourself more than me. Do you really think you can take me like *this* little girl?"

Oh, now that's done it.

Now those eyes are practically *burning* with bloodlust and rage. Something inside Katherine tightens at the sheer, pure violence in their depths. They promise such terrible, terrible things.

Katherine can hardly wait to find out what they are.

Uttering a wordless, feral growl, her temporary captive shoves off the wall and lunges forward, breaking free of the chokehold almost casually. She doesn't go for the exposed, bloodied wrist, however. Rather, she tangles her fingers in Katherine's hair and wrenches her head sharply, painfully to one side. There's just time enough to see the bared fangs, to know what's coming, and then...

The fangs bite deep into her flesh. Wet warmth on the side of her neck. The air rich and heavy with the iron tang of her own blood.

It hurts.

It hurts *gloriously*.

Katherine can't help the sound she makes, low and deep in her torn throat, her whole body shuddering with it. She's seeing starbursts again. Her knees buckle so that she crumples to the ground, her pursuer, attacker, captor shifting her weight so that Katherine is pinned firmly beneath her. She bites down harder.

Katherine shudders again, her eyes half-closing as she gives herself over to the sensations. She's barely even aware that her hands are clutching almost convulsively at the body on top of her.

But, suddenly, there's no one there.

Annoyance and concern vying within her, Katherine's eyes fly open. She sits up, bracing herself against the floor with one hand. The other, she brings to her neck, finding the expected dampness of blood and a rapidly healing pair of puncture wounds. She doesn't even bother to check the wound on her wrist. If it isn't already healed, it will be soon enough, and it isn't like she needs to worry about tetanus.

Arching one eyebrow, she looks up at the woman now standing halfway across the room.

"Hello, Caroline."

Caroline makes a small noise, possibly a mumbled greeting or possibly just a whimper. With her hands clapped over her mouth as they are, it's rather difficult to tell. Her eyes are wide and shocked, with the passion that darkened them such a shortago gone as if it had never existed at all.

Katherine gets to her feet, keeping in a frown at the way Caroline flinches in response to the movement. *That* certainly wasn't the reaction she intended.

Although it does make sense in context.

Moving slowly and deliberately, she turns her back on Caroline and crosses the room to the door, which is still hanging open. Removing and pocketing the key that's still in the outside lock (mentally applauding Caroline for having the presence of mind to obtain a master key from Mrs Hendrickson), she closes it firmly. As she does so, she notes as she does so that the television downstairs seems to be much louder than usual. Maybe even loud enough to cover the small sounds of the recent struggle. (Another tick for Caroline.)

By the time she turns back, Caroline has dropped her hands to her sides, but is still watching Katherine warily, rather like a mouse might watch a cat. Katherine tuts silently to herself. This will *never* do.

Judging that Caroline will likely bolt if she doesn't have another moment or two to recover, Katherine heads over to the bathroom and cleans up the mess on her neck and wrist. She keeps an eye on her guest in the mirror as she works, noting how Caroline relaxes by degrees the longer Katherine's attention is ostensibly on something other than her.

It's not like she doesn't have reason to be cautious, but Katherine doesn't think that's all it is. There's fear there, it's true, but it's not all -- not even mostly -- directed outwards. Silently, within the privacy of her own mind, Katherine heaves a sigh. 'Oh, Caroline,' she thinks, ruefully. 'You do like to make things so complicated sometimes...'

Left too long to her own devices, Caroline will undoubtedly end up in a self-reinforcing spiral of guilt and self-doubt. Fortunately, Katherine has no intention of letting that happen.

"Here," she says, throwing Caroline a clean towel. Caroline catches it automatically. "You might want to clean yourself up a bit." Katherine smirks, leaning back against the doorframe and crossing her arms. "You've got me all around your mouth."

(It's not actually quite as bad as that, but at least it gets the subject front and centre, rather than simply sweeping it under the rug. Katherine has never been one for politely ignoring the elephant in the room.)

Caroline twitches as little, then sets her jaw and strides purposefully to the sink. (Katherine is pleased that Caroline doesn't hesitate to pass within arm's reach of her. That's definitely a good sign.) It doesn't take her long to make hereslf presentable again. (But then, they are both of them skilled at putting on masks.)

"Thanks," Caroline mutters, dropping the towel into the laundry basket. Katherine folds her arms and waits. Sure enough, barely more than a few heartbeats later comes a soft: "I'm sorry."

Katherine quirks an eyebrow. "What for?" she asks, placidly, her expression merely mildly curious.

"For..." Caroline gestures vaguely in the direction of Katherine's neck.

"Hmmm?" Katherine affects puzzlement, like she doesn't know perfectly well what Caroline is feeling sorry for.

Caroline shoots her a glower -- ('That's more like it,' thinks Katherine, pleased) -- and takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry for biting you," she enunciates loudly and clearly. A shadow of her former trepidation settles over her again and she continues in a softer voice. "I didn't mean to go so far."

Katherine *really* has to fight to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Somehow she manages it, but only because the action will be counterproductive. Never mind. If Caroline isn't going to call her out on grounds of provocation, Katherine herself certainly isn't going to bring it up.

Anyway, this is in danger of getting *boring*.

In the blink of an eye, she's standing behind Caroline, leaning in close to brush her lips over Caroline's ear as she watches their reflections in the bathroom mirror.

(Another sudden sense of deja vu, albeit from a somewhat different context to the first. Idly, she wonders if Caroline is reminded of Elena right now.)

Just for fun, just because, she changes her posture just enough: coiled tension to gentle embrace, predator to protector. Her smile softens, lightens, turning into something that could even be described as kind.

(Not that Elena doesn't have her own darkness and her own edges. Even if those who know her -- including Caroline -- would try to deny it.)

"Oh, Caroline," Katherine murmurs, all tender concern. She runs her fingers through Caroline's hair, bringing her hand to rest lightly on the junction of her neck and shoulder.

Caroline ostensibly relaxes, at least on the surface. But her pulse is still rapid, her body still poised and ready. It's like she's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Katherine supposes that she'd better oblige.

As easily as breathing, Katherine's body language shifts again. Coiled and feline, her weight resting lightly on the balls of her feet. Her hand on Caroline's neck is now gripping loosely, her thumb tracing circles on the skin over Caroline's racing pulse. When she speaks, Katherine's voice is low and dark, brimming with hunger and dark promises.

"Maybe you didn't go far enough," she breathes.

Caroline's pupils dilate in response, her in-breath sudden and sharp, almost a hiss...

But her body is still stiff with the wrong kind of tension and Katherine knows she's not *fine*. Not yet. So she just kisses Caroline lightly on the cheek and lets her go.

As Katherine turns away, Caroline starts to say something -- question? complaint? expression of relief? -- but cuts herself off before she can form coherent words. Katherine doesn't ask. As far as she's concerned, the conversation is already over. (At least for now.) She demonstrates this by heading back into the bedroom, kicking off her boots and sprawling comfortably on the bed.

The next move is Caroline's to make.

Katherine lays back and watches the ceiling, idly wondering if she should go and play with Damon a little before she leaves town. It would only be fair -- she has seen Stefan recently, after all. Maybe when she's finished here. She isn't sure yet whether she's going to play nicely (for certain values of nicely) or not, but it'll be fun either way.

'Decisions, decisions...'

Her musings are interrupted by movement from the direction of the bathroom; footsteps that come out into the room a little way, and then stop. By the sounds of it, Caroline is standing at the foot of the bed.

Katherine props herself up on her elbows so she can meet Caroline's bland, mildly quizzical expression with her own wry smirk.

"Why don't you sit down?" she says.

"Thank you."

But instead of taking the offered seat, Caroline crosses the room to close the window and tidy up Katherine's scattered suitcase and bag, standing them neatly in a corner. She also gathers up the discarded boots while she's at it. Katherine wonders distantly if tidying up comes instinctively to her.

When she's finished erasing the evidence of their... tussle... Caroline sinks gracefully into the chair, smoothing her skirt down over her legs and placing her heels together; the very picture of a demure debutante. She could have fitted in perfectly with Mystic Falls high society circa Katherine's first visit here.

Katherine waits until she's settled before adding: "I'd offer you refreshments, but I think we've already done that part."

Caroline somehow manages to simultaneously look shocked, horrified, embarrassed, guilty (that is definitely something they're going to have to work on) and amused. She really can be very expressive sometimes.

Katherine laughs delightedly.

"Yes, well," Caroline mutters, flushing a little and glowering a lot. "You could at least offer me some tea or something."

"Try the sideboard, next to the kettle," Katherine swiftly responds. "There's a selection. Plus coffee, if you'd prefer, although I would recommend the apple and elderflower tisane. I think you'll like it."

Caroline's brow furrows a little, as if she thinks Katherine might be mocking her, but then she smiles. "I'll try it, thank you."

"Good. You can make me a cup of jasmine while you're up there." Katherine smiles winningly. "*Thank* you, Caroline," she trills. "You're a wonderful guest."

"Well, you're a terrible hostess," Caroline grumbles. But she does get up to make the tea. For both of them.

Katherine thinks it's funny that this is something she has in common with Caroline, but not Elena. Elena does drink tea, on occasion, but she generally seems to prefer coffee. And, speaking of Elena...

Katherine waits until they both have their drinks and Caroline is settled again in her chair before saying, conversationally: "Elena was asking about you the other day."

Caroline takes a sip of her tea. "Was she?" she says, casually.

Katherine waits a beat -- well, a sip of her own tea; drinks can sometimes be a useful prop for controlling the flow of a conversation -- but no more questions seem to be forthcoming. It looks like this point goes to Caroline.

"She wanted to know what I was doing with you."

"Hmmm." Sip. Pause. Sip. "What did you tell her?"

Katherine smiles.

"That she was asking the wrong question, of course."

Caroline seems to consider that for a few moments. She looks quizzically back at Katherine. "And was she?"

Katherine's smile deepens, and she raises her cup to Caroline in what could be a challenge, a salute, or some combination of both. Even she isn't sure which it is.

"Yes and no," she admits.

"I see," says Caroline, thoughtfully. And that seems to be her last word on the matter.

The two of them finish their tea in what feels like a more or less companionable silence. There is tension there, of course, simmering beneath the surface. With their history, recent and otherwise, how could there not be? But still.

It's almost peaceful.

It can't last, of course.

Katherine won't let it.

"You're aware that you're late, of course," she says, casually, as if continuing an earlier thread of conversation. Caroline looks a little puzzled, so she nods towards the suitcase. "I was just about to leave when you finally showed up."

"It wasn't exactly easy to track you down," Caroline complains. "And the landlady *really* didn't want to let me in."

Katherine's smile broadens. "I trust you realise that, next time, I won't make an exception for you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I compelled Mrs Hendrickson not to invite anyone else over the threshold." A shrug. "Except you, if you were suitably... persuasive. But next time, I won't leave you that little loophole."

"I thought you *wanted* me to find you!" Caroline objects, pouting most charmingly.

Katherine shrugs. "It's no fun if it's too easy. Victory tastes all the sweeter if you have to work for it." And if she can weave a useful lesson in with the pleasure, then so much the better.

Reclining on the pillows, she idly brings one hand up, trailing her fingers down the side of her neck, lingering a little over the spot where Caroline bit her.

Caroline's eyes follow the movement of Katherine's fingers, darkening visibly. She leans forward a little in her chair.

"You *do* want to work for it, don't you?" Katherine purrs.

Caroline’s throat moves as she swallows convulsively.

Katherine takes that as a yes. “Why don’t you come over here and join me?” she says softly.

Up and down, the finger goes. Up and down.

Caroline starts to get to her feet, then pauses, looking conflicted.

(She may have recovered her composure, but Katherine *knows* that the hunger she awakened earlier is still gnawing at her, still simmering there beneath the surface. And it won't take nearly as much effort as last time to bring it out to play.)

Just another push, just another little push.

The slightest movement of Katherine’s fingers, and now her nails, rather than her fingertips, rest lightly upon her skin. Slowly, she increases the pressure, the sensation of touch sharpening, intensifying, until it’s balanced on the knife-edge between caress and penetration.

Just a little more, just a little bit more.

Flesh parts, yielding a flow of warm, sticky fluid.

Caroline *hisses*; eyes black, fangs extended.

‘There, there, my precious girl,’ Katherine thinks, or maybe even murmurs. ‘Let it go. Just let it all go.’

Another moment.

And Caroline is upon her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: The next part may be delayed a few weeks, as we're trying to get the next three parts done before posting any of them.


	4. Main act - Melody

We don't speak for a time.

Our kisses leave no space for words. Our lips and tongues and hands tell a story far more real, far more true, than we could ever manage with speech alone.

I might not trust her, I might not have figured out exactly what it is she wants of me (beyond the obvious debt, the deal we made), but I know Katherine.

And she knows me.

Her fingers slide over my sides, slipping under my thin vest to find the bare skin beneath. I shiver at the touch, my breath quickening a little as she skims one hand up over my stomach until it rests just below the curve of one breast. She traces circles with her thumb, but she doesn't move her hand up any further. Not yet. Her other hand moves around to my back, fingers splayed, applying just enough pressure for me to feel her nails as she draws them lightly over my skin.

I wonder if she's going to mark me (again), my stomach fluttering at the thought (conflicted feelings), but her touch remains gentle, barely there at all.

(From the look in her eyes, I hadn't been expecting slow and gentle, but then, as I said: she knows me.)

My own fingers find the buttons of her shirt, undoing them swiftly and surely by touch alone until the garment hangs open. I'm a little more impatient than she is, brushing my palms over her breasts in their lace and wire confinement, cupping them through the thin material. She gasps softly against my lips, her kisses becoming more insistent, more demanding. I stroke my thumbs over her hardening nipples, unaccountably pleased by the way she shudders, the way her hands curl and flex on my skin.

There are still too many layers between us (clothes and otherwise, a distant, assessing part of me notes), so I reluctantly release her breasts to reach for her open shirt, starting to slide it over her shoulders and down her arms. She obligingly moves to help -- I feel strangely bereft to lose the touch of her hands on my skin -- wriggling free of the shirt and then taking it from me to carelessly toss aside. Now she grips the hem of my vest, breaking the kiss to pull it slowly up over my body, over my head... only to stop there, leaving me effectively blindfolded.

The light brush of her lips on mine silences the almost-protest that's on the tip of my tongue. Then her fingers are on the exposed parts of my cheeks, brushing my jaw, stroking lightly down the sides of my neck, trailing down, down, down. My breath hitches a little in anticipation, and then again in frustration as her hands move sideways at the last, lightly settling on my upper arms.

I know she's watching me. I can imagine (remember) the look in her eyes as I stand there, exposed to her gaze.

I feel my lips curve and twist.

Well, if she wants to watch...

I take hold of the waistband of my sleeping shorts, sliding them slowly down over my hips, swaying perhaps a touch more than is truly necessary as I lift one leg through, and then the other. Then I throw the shorts down at her feet, cocking one hip in a challenge.

Now I really am naked before her.

She laughs, the sound low and delighted. I start to reach up for the vest still bunched up around my eyes, but she catches hold of my wrists and, gently but insistently, tugs them down again.

"Katherine," I breathe, the word barely audible, even to me.

"Elena," she murmurs back. "What do you want?"

I open my mouth to speak, but the words won't come out. What I *want* is to say that I don't like being blind. That I want to take this makeshift blindfold off. That I want to *see* her. But I don't. Because...

Because.

There's something about this, standing here before her, unable to see, not knowing what she's going to do. I feel...

It isn't just unease that prickles my skin and makes my stomach tighten.

(Even though I never would have admitted that before, not even to myself. Not before Katherine. But then, before Katherine, would I even have known?)

But Katherine is waiting for me to answer her question.

"Are we just going to stand here all night?" My voice is low and rough, my attempt at composure giving it an edge I don't quite intend. "I thought we were going to go to bed."

Katherine lets go of my wrists and steps back.

Silence.

I don't know where she is. Is she still watching me? Surely she can't have just left. I strain my ears, turning my head this way and that.

Still nothing.

I take an uncertain step...

Fingers curling around my hip; the gentle press of lips against the nape of my neck. She's behind me...

But as soon as I think that, she's gone again.

"Feeling impatient?" Her voice comes from somewhere to the side, the words low and amused. I turn towards the sound, even though she's almost certainly already moved.

"Feeling cold," I improvise. It really isn't all that chilly in here, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let her have this point. Her low chuckle (from somewhere in front of me) says she's less than convinced, but it's the principle of the thing.

"Poor Elena." The whisper comes from right by my left ear, so close I can feel her breath on my skin. She follows it up by kissing her way down my neck, starting just behind my ear and ending at the junction of my neck and shoulder. (Just like I did to her earlier this evening. It could be a coincidence, I suppose, but somehow I don't think so. It rarely is, with Katherine.)

She starts working her way back up my neck. I lean into the kisses, feeling, rather than hearing, the hum of her chuckling under her breath. She presses her body against my back, wraps an arm around my stomach, holding me in place. (Not that I was planning on going anywhere.) Distracted as I am, her hand on my breast makes me jump a little. When she teases my nipple with expert fingers, it sends a jolt of electricity arcing through my body. I tremble in her embrace.

"You *must* be cold," she says, mock sympathy syrup-sweet in her voice. "Look how you're shivering." The arm wrapped around my middle loosens, her fingers trailing over my hip, across my belly. "Maybe I can help to warm you up." Slowly, so slowly, her fingers dip lower. "Maybe..." She plays with a curl of hair. "A blanket!"

And she's *gone* again!

"Katherine!" The protest bursts from my lips without conscious thought, the word almost a growl. It's almost enough to make me want to stamp my foot in sheer frustration.

I listen, but no reply seems forthcoming. I'm not sure I like this game. (I'm not sure I want to like this game.) I reach up to uncover my eyes, but I've only just touched the flimsy material when my wrists are caught again. This time she isn't quite so delicate when she forces them back down.

"Hey," I say, more in mild protest than actual objection.

"I know that didn't hurt." She says that like a statement of fact, sure and certain. But she releases me without being asked, bringing each wrist to her mouth in turn to lay a kiss over the pulse point before letting it go.

She's right: she didn't actually hurt me. But I feel the urge to rub at my wrists anyay, just like I felt like I had to make some kind of protest at being handled roughly. I make myself resist this time, letting my arms hang loosely at my sides. Poised and alert, my senses straining to try to pin down her location (because of course she moved again as soon as she let me go), I wait to see what she's going to do now.

"I won't stop you again," Katherine says, conversationally. Her voices comes from somewhere up ahead and to the right.

"Huh?" Eloquence is a little beyond me right now.

"If you try to uncover your eyes again, I'm not going to stop you." From the left now. She lets that hang in the air for a moment or two, and I don't need to be able to see her to know that she's smiling as she says the next words. I know exactly the smile, as well. Secretive and sly, wickedly amused, like she's laughing at a joke known only to herself. "The choice, as always, is yours."

To my right again. She's clearly circling me, stalking me. I imagine her gaze trailing over my bare skin like a caress, and feel a shiver run the length of my spine.

Damn her.

Why is she doing this to me?

(Why am I letting her do this to me?)

I digest her words as she circles, circles, circles me. My hands twitch a little, but that's just reflex, not choice.

"What if I take it off?" I ask softly.

"Then you take it off." I picture the shrug that goes with the careless, artless tone. Languid and liquid, feline and graceful, taut muscles rippling under firm, supple skin.

Apparently I'm not picturing her clothes.

Damn her.

Why does it feel like this is about more than a stupid piece of cloth?

But I already know the answer to that question.

Limits. Boundaries. Choice.

I could say this is about trust, but it isn't, not really. At least, despite the way it seems on the surface, it's not about me trusting *her*.

It always comes back to choice.

And I've made mine. I mean: what the hell? I'm kind of curious to see what she's going to do.

Whatever it is, she'd better do it soon. I'm not exactly feeling at my most patient right now.

I'd roll my eyes, but she can't see them. So I sigh heavily, crossing my arms and tapping one foot against the floor in an exaggerated (but not *that* exaggerated) mummery of impatience.

"What, are you painting a picture? Do you want me to strike a pose or something?"

Katherine laughs like I've said something hilarious. "No, that's alright," she murmurs. "I like the view just fine as it is." Her hands are on me again almost as soon as the words are out of her mouth; stroking, caressing, teasing. "Although," she continues, her voice a low purr. "It's much better close up."

It feels like her hands are everywhere, like *she's* everywhere. My breasts, my ass, my back, my stomach, my thighs...

Everywhere but the one place I want -- need -- her to be.

"Katherine," I whisper, and to my own ears it almost sounds like a plea.

"Elena," she breathes, and kisses me, exploring my mouth with her lips and tongue as she explores my body with her hands. I whimper a little, clutching at her back, my hands spasming as her fingers linger on my almost (but not quite) painfully sensitive nipples. She hisses as my nails dig into her flesh, and my mental image of the sheer hunger in her eyes is so vivid that it's as if I can actually see her. I want her so badly I can practically taste it.

I'm distantly, vaguely aware that she's shifting us around, walking me backwards one trembling half-step at a time, but that doesn't seem important.

I run my hands down her back, growling in frustration as they reach the waistband of the jeans I'd forgotten she was wearing. I try to slip my fingers inside, but they fit her like a second skin, and there's just no room to manoeuvre. I fumble with the buckle, trying to work it loose, but just as I'm starting to make progress, she lifts my hands away.

I make a low warning sound in my throat, pulling back a little from the kiss to say: "You're wearing too many clothes." I make an effort to enunciate clearly, but need, urgent and raw, almost makes the words a snarl.

"No, I think I'm fine for the moment," she replies, airily. "After all, you wouldn't want me to get cold, would you?"

"I'd warm you up," I promise.

"Later," she says, pronouncing the word with great relish. "For the moment, I have other plans." The backs of my legs hit something hard. With a little 'help' from Katherine -- she pushes me while I'm off-balance from the unexpectedness of the obstacle -- I sit down with a thump, landing on something soft and yielding. "I distinctly remember," she says, punctuating the words with kisses and light touches, "mentioning something about retiring to bed..."

"Yes," I reply, feeling a little lightheaded. "I believe I recall something of the sort."

"Well, here we are."

"But I'm the only one actually on the bed," I point out, with what I think is an admirable attempt at keeping my voice level and reasonable. I reach up and take hold of her upper arms, pulling not-so-gently in case she fails to take my oh-so-subtle hint.

"Why Miss Elena," she says, winsomely. "Are you inviting me into your bower?"

I have to laugh at that, but then one of her hands dips between my thighs and the sound turns into a moan. She strokes a fingertip lightly over my clitoris, once, twice, three times. I reel, only held upright by her other hand behind my shoulders. Back and forth, back and forth...

And then she... pauses. Her finger hovers there in the lightest of touches, only just making contact. It's *maddening*. I bite my lip to keep back a wail.

"Why don't you move back onto the bed a little," Katherine suggests. "We'll have more room to play with."

"You seemed to be doing just fine right here," I grind out. But I do as she asks, turning slightly so I can swing my legs up and then sliding back until my head is on the pillows. All the while, she keeps her hand where it is, more or less. If I wasn't so... *tense*... I'd probably be impressed at the skilful way she shifts and moves with me to maintain our relative positions. As it is, the bulk of my attention is focused on willing her to continue what she was doing.

"Comfortable?" she enquires.

"Prefectly," I reply.

"Good."

By the feel of it, she's stretched out alongside me, probably propped up on one elbow. I reach out with the hand not trapped between us, groping blindly around until I find the swell of one breast, hissing my displeasure when I touch material, not skin. I'd forgotten she was still wearing her bra.

"Although I'd be more comfortable if this wasn't in the way," I murmur, brushing my palm over the lace.

The mattress dips a little as she leans in and kisses me softly on the lips. "Why don't you just lie back and relax," she breathes.

I can't help a smile. "Relaxing is *so* not on the cards right now."

"Well, maybe I can help with that..."

Huh?

"What do you-" I break off mid-sentence as the mattress is suddenly free of any weight but my own. "Katherine?" No reply. "Katherine!"

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," she reassures me.

She climbs up back on the bed again, this time swinging one leg over mine and settling back so that she's straddling my thighs. Her jeans are rough against my bare skin. I start to push myself up on my elbows, the better to confront her, but she takes my wrists and slides them up the bed. Her grip is light, the movement slow -- I could easily stop her if I chose.

But I don't.

I have an idea where this is going, and I honestly don't know how I feel about it. So for the moment, while I try to sort out my conflicted feelings, I just let it happen.

Katherine releases my wrists When they're roughly level with my head, the backs of my hands resting against the bed frame. Even after she lets me go, even though she was barely applying any pressure at all, it's like I can still feel her handprints on my skin. Paralysed by indecision, I don't even try to move, straining my senses to try to figure out what she's doing back there.

I hear the faintest whisper of fabric -- perhaps running through her fingers -- and then I feel something soft and delicate brush over my stomach. Katherine shifts her weight a little on my thighs, trailing the thin material upwards, over my breasts -- lingering a little over my nipples so that I shudder and gasp -- my collar bone, one shoulder. All along the length of one outstretched arm it goes, that featherlight touch, until it reaches the end, when she simply drapes it over my wrist. 

Anticipation makes me twitch a little, but she confounds my expectation by sitting back again, letting the material -- some kind of scarf? -- go. Another rustle, another length of fabric trailing over my skin, and soon both wrists are covered.

A moment after Katherine lets go of the second scarf (or whatever it is), the first one tightens against my wrist, like she's taken hold of both ends and stretched it between her hands. I wait, trepidation and excitement prickling across my skin.

I wait some more.

I frown.

"Katherine?"

"Yes, Elena?"

I consider how best to phrase this, settling on: "What are you waiting for?" It comes out more hesitant than I'd like.

"For you to tell me this is okay," she says, simply.

Oh.

Oh, of course.

I.. have to think for a moment or several, still conflicted. *Is* it okay? Am I okay with this? With letting her bind me? It isn't like these flimsy pieces of material could actually stop me if I wanted to break free.

But then, this *isn't* about trust. 

Limits. Boundaries. Choices.

"Yes," I breathe, then a little louder. "It's okay."

"Well, okay then," she murmurs back, sounding pleased. "Just hold still a moment..." And with a few deft motions of her hands, my wrists are bound to the bed frame. When she sits back again, I cautiously test the bindings, seeing how much they give. I wouldn't want to rip them accidentally.

"We should have enough slack to play with," she says, adding: "I wouldn't want you to break free accidentally, after all."

It's almost like she's reading my mind. Or something.

The sensation of a third swatch of material being trailed over my skin takes me completely by surprise. "Close your eyes," she instructs me.

"What?" I gasp, arching my back as she does something exquisite to my breasts. "Why?"

"Because I want to do this properly," she says, like it should be obvious. I'm still a little confused -- in my defence, I'm very distracted right now -- but I dutifully do as I'm bid. "Are they closed?" she asks.

"Yes."

Almost before I register the movement, she pulls off the makeshift blindfold and replaces it with the length of soft fabric, winding it around my head and -- I assume -- tying it off securely.

"There," she says. "That's much better."

"Well I'm so glad your standards of propriety have been satisfied," I deadpan as best as I can.

"You should be," she purrs, her voice low and sinful, smooth as molasses and twice as dark. "Because now I can do this..."

She leans forward and kisses me, forceful and demanding. I meet her passion with her own, automatically starting to put my arms around her until I'm jerked to a stop by my bonds. Katherine laughs softly at my frustrated hiss, nipping at my lower lips with her teeth. It stings a little, but she takes my mind off it by cupping my breasts in her hands. As I gasp and shiver, she slowly kisses and nibbles her way down my neck. I almost cry out my disappointment when she moves her hands. I do cry out for different reasons when she replaces them with her lips and tongue. Her hands move to my belly, to my waist, sliding around and underneath so her fingers are splayed on my back. I feel them flex and curl against my skin, feel her nails dig in a little, and then a little more.

"Not so hard," I protest, a little unsteadily.

"Sorry," she says, not really sounding very sorry at all. But the nails go back to fingertips, with which she gently caresses over my skin. "Did I hurt you?"

I start to say yes, then stop and consider for a beat before saying: "Not really, but it was on the edge."

"Duly noted," she murmurs, then puts her mouth to work again. She trails her tongue over my stomach, nipping gently here and there. Her hands move lower, stroking and squeezing my ass, and I suddenly realise that at some point she's repositioned herself. No longer straddling my thighs, she's now kneeling between them. As that knowledge filters through my pleasure-hazed mind, she slides her hands around so that her palms are pressing down on my inner thighs, and her fingers...

"Ah!"

Her fingers come to rest just between, sliding easily over the slick skin. I shudder helplessly, thinking 'finally!', but she doesn't *move* them. Instead, she seems content to just leave them hovering where they are for what feels like an eternity. Without a conscious decision on my part, my hips start to twist, start to press my sensitive flesh up against her fingers, but she leans her weight onto my thighs, holding me in place.

"So impatient," she says, sounding amused.

Of *course* she's amused.

"Katherine!"

Her only reply is a wicked laugh... and to slide her hands further down my thighs, taking away even that light contact. I draw breath to curse her, but then she pushes my legs apart, and repositions herself.

And then her mouth is on me...

Oh god.

Her *mouth*.

Her lips and tongue, stroking, caressing, exploring, sparks flying from her every touch. Finding a rhythm that seems to make my whole body pulse to her tempo.

Growing heat between my legs, muscles tightening low in my belly, nerve endings afire with sensation.

Pressure building, building, building...

And breaking like a wave, crashing over me and sweeping me away.

*Oh*.

I think I cry out. Maybe I call her name, maybe not. I don't know. (I'm not sure I want to know.)

The world disappears for a time as I'm lost in sensory overload.

When awareness starts to filter back in, I'm dimly aware that I'm arching my back. The world is shuddering, or maybe that's just me. My hands spasm and claw, the bindings pressing against my skin. In some far part of my mind, I'm obscurely proud of myself for not losing control and simply ripping free of them.

An instant, an eternity, an endless moment later, the waves of pleasure start to ebb.

I sink back into the bed, panting.

"Ohhhhh," I breathe.

"I take it that was... satisfactory," Katherine says, her voice low and pleased.

I smile lazily, languidly, stretching as far as my bonds will allow. "Couldn't you tell?"

She laughs. "You did seem to appreciate what I was doing." As if to illustrate her point, she slides a hand up my thigh, strokes lightly over my clitoris so that I shiver and gasp, sending lesser waves -- aftershocks -- rippling through my body. Swift and sure, with just the right amount of pressure, she brings me to the brink again and sends me hurtling over.

(I'm pretty sure I call out her name this time, and I'm not sure I want to think about what that means, or doesn't mean.)

(But then, I've never had to trust someone to care about them.)

When I fall back to earth again, when the ripples fade, when I can focus beyond the boundary of my own skin, a new fire pools within me, a new need. Although I can't see, I turn my head in her direction.

"So, are you going to untie me now?" I pitch my voice lower, weighting my next words with promise. "Because I'd *really* like to return the favour."

"Oh, Elena, Elena," she whispers, her hands moving over my sweat-slicked skin. "I haven't finished with you yet."

And further speech is right out of the question.

*Oh*.

 

Later, when she's done taking my body to its limits (and, a few times, beyond), Katherine finally lets me go.

"There. Free at last," she proclaims, sounding utterly, disgustingly pleased with herself. Not that she doesn't have reason to be, I suppose. I sigh and stretch, taking the opportunity to confirm exactly where she is relative to me and to the edge of the bed, figuring out angles and trajectories and other such things.

Yep, this is do-able.

With some difficulty, I stop myself from smiling. (It would be sly and wicked, and I'm sure she'd appreciate it, but it would kind of give the game away, and I want to surprise her)

"Are you falling asleep there?" she wonders, and then I'm moving. Up, grab-and-twist, roll, and then I'm pinning her beneath me, using my own body to hold her in place. I rip the blindfold from my eyes with enough force that it actually tears.

(I feel a little bad about that, actually. I don't know if the scarf is one of mine or if she brought it with her, but it seems kind of wasteful to just ruin it. But I can worry about it later. For the moment, I have other things on my mind.)

I gaze deeply into her eyes, letting her see the need I'm sure is all-but blazing from my own.

"You," I say, enunciating my words clearly and precisely, "are wearing far too many clothes."

"Is that so?" she replies, wriggling a little beneath me.

"It is," I say. I lower my mouth to hers, kissing her thoroughly for a while before breaking free to murmur: "Luckily, I have a solution to this problem..."

Slowly, I make my way down her body, lingering here and there with a bite, a kiss, a caress. I get a little distracted by her breasts, cupping and stroking them through the material of her bra until she says:

"I thought you were going to solve the issue of clothing." Her voice is a little breathless. I smile, nipping at the skin of her stomach so she hisses and trembles.

"It's on the list," I reply.

I move lower, drawing my fingers down over her skin until I reach her jeans. Bending to kiss her stomach, I loosen the belt, sliding it through the buckle. I trail my tongue over what I know is a sensitive area just inside the curve of her hip, kissing, then nipping at it lightly. Despite the way she writhes, I make short work of the button and zip. Slowly, I peel the denim back and slide the jeans down her legs, pausing every once in a while to kiss the now-exposed flesh. When I reach mid-calf, I have to move off her, kneeling to one side so I can slide the inconvenient clothing all the way off.

It's only when I'm pulling the jeans over her already-bare feet that I realise she must have taken her boots off before she even let me know she was here. Which, now I come to think about it, explains why she didn't seem taller than me when we were brushing each other's hair.

Apparently *someone* was already planning ahead.

I throw Katherine's jeans in the vague direction of the chair in the corner and kneel by her feet, stroking my nails lightly over her soles.

"I see you figured on getting undressed at some point," I observe.

"Maybe I was just making myself comfortable," she replies airily, her casual tone belied by the way she gasps as I press just a little harder. Releasing her feet, I stretch out alongside her body, running my hand up her thigh until it rests on the front of her little black panties.

"These should probably go," I muse, sliding my hand between her legs and stroking my fingers over the thin material.

"Mmmm..." she breathes. I think that means she agrees. I can feel the heat of her through the fabric, which is wet with the evidence of her arousal. I press my fingers in a little, entranced by the low moan she gives, by the way she catches her lower lip between her teeth. "Maybe I should just take them off," she pants, starting to do just that. I withdraw my hand and smack the backs of hers lightly.

"I've got it," I say, firmly.

She laughs, the sound a little ragged around the edges. "Is this revenge?"

"Maybe." I smile at her, and she draws in a sharp breath. "Now turn over."

I'm actually a little startled by how... commanding I sound. I don't know whether or not Katherine is surprised, but if she is, she doesn't show it. She just quirks an eyebrow at me and does what I say. I lean over to unhook her bra, flinging the ends to either side of her but not bothering to try to pull the garment from beneath her body. This is fine for the moment. I kiss the nape of her neck once and then slowly draw my nails down her back, enjoying the way she shivers and clutches the pillow. I do it again just because, a little harder this time. I'm a little more forceful than she was, earlier, but then I know she has a far higher threshold than I do.

Her soft, almost startled-sounding "Oh!" is music to my ears.

Another pass with my nails and then I slip my fingers under her panties, stroking and squeezing her ass with one hand while I pull the underwear down her legs with the other. She obligingly draws her legs up so I can pull them off without having to move from where I am.

That's awfully considerate of her.

"There," I say, sending her panties the way of her jeans. "That's so much better."

"I'm glad you approve," she murmurs, her voice a little muffled by the bedding. "Does that mean I can turn back around and avoid being half-suffocated by your duvet?"

"If you'd let me finish undressing you earlier, then you wouldn't have to cope with such indignity," I point out. For emphasis, I swat her playfully on the ass.

And Katherine moans, deep in her throat.

Oh. That's... interesting. Although, now that I think about it, not entirely unexpected. Experimentally, I swat her again.

She shivers. "Harder," she almost growls.

Okay. I can work with this, I guess. Raising my hand a little, I bring it down sharply, wincing a little at the sound it makes.

"Harder!" She does growl the word that time. I feel a little uneasy about this, but I smack her ass again, this time hard enough to make my palm sting and leave a faint pink mark on her pale skin. "Ah!" she cries out, throwing her head back so I can see her open mouth, her fluttering eyelids.

I bring my hand up again, but hesitate. She's clearly enjoying this, but I feel... Honestly, it feels kind of weird. Not necessarily *bad*, exactly, but definitely not something I'm comfortable with. (Not yet, a still, small part of me whispers.)

But she does seem to like it...

"It's okay, Elena." I look up to see her twisted around, watching me. As our eyes meet, she smiles, rolling over onto her back and holding out her arms. "Come over here."

I smile back, feeling almost guiltily relieved.

"Well, since you ask so nicely..." I cover her body with my own, nudging her legs apart and slipping my hand between her thighs. She gasps and clutches at my back. "Now," I murmur, circling my thumb and starting to ease a finger through the slick folds. "I believe I said something about returning a favour..."

And then we don't need to say anything at all.


	5. Main act - Harmony

Slowly, one step at a time, you and Elena kiss, caress and embrace your way across the suddenly, seemingly, vast distance to the bed. You'd probably find it easier, the distant, rational, part of your mind whispers, if either of you were willing to let the other go. But you just can't bring yourself to tear your lips from hers, to lift your hands from her body, to put even a centimetre of space between the two of you. And, from the way she's clinging to you, wrapping herself around you, neither can she.

So you stumble and stagger and, perhaps inevitably, you fall.

You fling your arms out for balance, she does the same.

You're both vampires: of course you can keep your feet. It's your human instincts that lead you astray, making you clutch for support you don't need. She stands on your foot, your fingers snag in her hair. You both yelp and try to twist away from what hurts. You clip her with a shoulder, she smacks you with an elbow. You both flail wildly. There's a tugging at your wrist, a sudden pinging sensation against your skin.

Suddenly, it's raining flower petals.

You both freeze in place.

Emotions flash through you in rapid succession: triumph (you stayed upright!), curiosity (what *was* that?), realisation.

"I'm sorry," you both say simultaneously, with identical, horrified tones.

You look at each other as the remnants of the corsage flutter slowly down around you.

And then you burst out laughing.

You giggle helplessly for a while, occasionally pointing at each other, at the petal-strewn carpet, at the snapped elastic band lying there, all forlorn. Sometimes your mirth starts to subside, but then you'll catch each other's eyes, or one of you draws breath to speak, and then you're off again. Eventually, however, the gales of hilarity simmer down.

"You should have seen your face," Elena hiccoughs, wiping a tear from her eye. "It was an absolute picture."

"You should have seen your own," you retort, smiling.

She shakes her head, her expression sobering a little as she looks at you with genuine remorse in her eyes. "I am sorry I destroyed your corsage," she says.

"I think it was a mutual effort," you reply. "So, I'm sorry for my part in the flailing."

Elena starts to speak again, and you just *know* she's going to offer to get you another one and, honestly, you don't think it would fare much better than this one and while you appreciate the thought -- you *really* appreciate the thought -- you don't know how to tell her it's not necessary without hurting her feelings and the last thing you want to do is hurt her feelings and all you want is to make her happy and so you step forward and kiss her.

You *kiss* her.

She kisses you back.

And then she pulls back a little way, looking at you with a smile on her lips and eyes shining like stars.

"Make love with me?" she asks, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

How can she look so uncertain when your answer must be written all over your face? When you've been answering the question in one form or another all evening? (All your life.) 

When you were just in the middle of taking her to bed?

Doesn't she know? Can't she see how you feel?

But it's words she needs right now, and so you give her your words.

Well, one word.

"Yes."

 

You start to undress each other, slowly, tenderly, savouring each moment. Elena pushes your bolero jacket off your shoulders, capturing your mouth with hers as she slides the jacket down your arms and drops it onto the chair behind you. You reach for the ribbon holding her hair back, unravelling with a single tug, freeing the dark waves to swirl about her shoulders. Her wrap is next, loosed just as easily, both wrap and ribbon joining your jacket on the chair. You kiss each other, slow and easy and ripe with promise.

'This is it,' you think to yourself, wonderingly. 'This is really happening.' Butterflies of nervous anticipation start to flutter in your stomach as you finally let yourself believe that tonight, at long last, the promise is going to be fulfilled.

Tonight, you and Elena are going to make love for the first time.

You've been dancing around this for weeks, months -- two steps forwards, one step back -- ever since Elena told you that she wanted to try being more than friends. Ever since the first time she *kissed* you.

(Maybe even before that. Maybe from the moment Katherine decided to out your closely kept secret.)

There's been more kissing since, of course. Long make-out sessions on her couch, in her bedroom. Stolen, thrilling minutes knowing that someone could be spying, listening; that someone could have walked in on you at any moment. Longing. Desire. Need. Wandering hands and mussed clothing.

But this is different. This is... more.

It's the next step.

(The next step towards the end.)

(Because it always ends. They always leave, or are taken from you, and every step forward is a step towards the inevitable. But you've already made your peace with fate and you take this step with open eyes and open heart.)

(There's a long way yet before you hit the ground.)

Elena breaks the kiss, a wordless protest spilling from your lips as she pulls back, releasing you from the circle of her arms.

"Shoes," she explains, kneeling to slip the high-heels from your feet, one at a time. You can't help a small sigh of relief at finally having your soles flat on the ground -- and on thick carpet, no less. (These shoes may be fabulous, but they're hell on your feet. Talk about suffering in the name of fashion.) The sigh turns into a gasp when Elena runs her hands up your legs. "And let's get you out of these as well, while we're at it," she murmurs.

Over your calves, past your knees, onto your thighs. A brief pause, long enough for you to wonder if she's losing her nerve -- and if you are -- and then her palms are sliding over your ass, your hips; her fingers wriggling into the waistband of your tights. Slowly, so very slowly, she peels them down your legs, holding your gaze the whole time.

You can't look away from her eyes

So deep, so dark, so full.

Your breath hitches in your throat, your skin prickling as she slides the whisper-fine material over your skin. She licks her lips, the movement utterly unselfconscious and unutterably sexy. A thrill of excitement shivers down your spine.

(You love her so much.)

You want her almost more than you can bear.

You have to swallow hard before you can ease your voice around the lump in your throat. "Come back here," you whisper, holding out a hand to her. She smiles, coiling up your tights and tucking them into one of your shoes while you fight back the sudden, impatient impulse to grab the neck of her dress and drag her up so you can kiss her within an inch of her life. Or to throw her down on the carpet and ravish her right here. Either's good.

No. No, you're going to do this properly. This has to be *perfect*.

Elena's smile is oddly knowing as she takes your hand, like she knows exactly what was going through your mind. Just like...

(Sudden sense of deja vu, quickly banished.)

Moving slowly, deliberately -- despite what your instincts are all-but screaming right now -- you draw her slowly to her feet. You brush your lips across the back of her hand, chastely, then turn it over and kiss her palm, her fingers, her wrist. Ever-so-lightly, you let your teeth graze the skin just over her pulse point, thrilled beyond belief by the way she shivers, by the way she tilts her head and half-closes her eyes.

She's so open, so sensual.

Her responsiveness touches you deep inside, stoking the fire of your need.

Low, pleased noises deep in her throat as you kiss your way along her arm. A sharp gasp as you gently bite her inner elbow. A soft, breathy moan when you reach her neck.

You linger there a while, plying your lips, tongue and teeth. Gently, though; still gently. Not enough to break the skin; not even enough to mark. Just enough to make sure she feels it. Just enough to draw a reaction.

"Ah!" she gasps, as you bite down a little harder than you were intending.

You wince. "Sorry," you say, kissing the reddened area to take the sting away. She shudders against you.

"No, it's okay," she says, sounding a little breathless. "That... wasn't a pained sound. It's fine, really. Better than fine."

"I see," you murmur, hiding your surprise against her skin. Well, not surprise, not exactly. It's not like you didn't suspect -- like Katherine hasn't hinted -- that the two of them aren't as dissimilar as you sometimes like to tell yourself. But...

But.

But now isn't the time.

"So..." Elena says, laying her hand on your cheek. Tilting your face up to hers, she kisses you deeply, thoroughly, passionately, driving anything so ordered as actual thoughts out of your head for a while.

"Yes?" you reply, when you finally come up for air.

"I can't help but notice that we're not in bed yet. And we're still mostly dressed."

You smile, and if the expression looks half as hungry as you think it does, it must be making Elena feel pretty darn edible right now. "Working on it," you reassure her.

And then you jump a little as her other hand slips under the hem of your dress, stroking and squeezing your ass.

"Work faster," she orders.

"As you wish." Your voice quavers a little, but your movements are sure as -- as if of their own accord -- your hands come up to palm her breasts. Almost forgetting to breathe, you run your hands over the soft swell of them, cupping them, caressing them, stroking your thumbs over her for-some-reason prominent nipples. You watch her face as your hands move, thrilling at the way her mouth opens in an O of surprise, the way her eyes are nearly all pupil right now.

She clutches at you, fingers digging into your skin as if she's afraid that she might fall.

(You'll catch her. You'll always catch her.)

With a start, you remember that you actually had a plan beyond simply filling your hands with her breasts. (Although, that's certainly a worthy goal all by itself.) You take a half-step forwards, waiting until you're sure she's going to move with you before steering her the rest of the way to the bed. Regretfully releasing her breasts -- she makes a soft, disappointed sound -- you ease her down so that she's sitting on the edge of the mattress.

"Well, one of us is on the bed," Elena observes. An odd expression flits across her face for a moment, but it melts away before you can ask her what she's thinking.

You smile, sinking to your knees in front of her. "Shoes," you murmur. You lift one of her long, toned legs, running your hands down the length of it, from the hem of her dress to the strap of her sandal, sliding the shoe off and setting it to one side. You stroke her sole with your nails lightly before letting it drop to the floor, repeating the process with her other leg.

Elena seems to appreciate your attention to detail.

When both of her feet are unshod, she surprises you by standing up again, wearing an expression that somehow manages to be both sinfully wicked and adorably uncertain as she lifts the hem of her dress to reveal...

"Oh, Elena," you breathe.

Unexpectedly, thrillingly, she's wearing, not tights, but stockings and suspenders. You're not sure precisely why the sight of them seems to shortcircuit your mind, to bypass thought and go straight for your gut (well, lower), but it does.

"Do you like them?" she asks, looking a little unsure of herself. "She said you would, but..."

She?

No, you're not going to ask a question you already know the answer to. You're not going to ask how much of this date was Katherine's idea, Katherine's plan, Katherine's...

No.

Elena is here because she wants to be here. You *know* this.

You know this.

So you swallow your pride and smile up at Elena, letting your eyes show your appreciation, your pleasure, your desire.

(And absolutely nothing of the conflict that's bubbling beneath the surface. Because maintaining a facade is something you absolutely know how to do.)

(It's the only thing you're really good at.)

"I love them," you say. You briefly think about asking her to leave them on, at least for the moment, but then you're hit by the overwhelming need to feel her skin against yours, to have nothing between the two of you but each other. You let that need shape your expression as you reach for her, saying: "Now let's get you out of them."

Of course, it isn't that simple.

You struggle with the unexpectedly tricky fastenings, excitement briefly overridden by frustration. It's like finding a much-longed-for Christmas present unexpectedly difficult to get into. All that build up, all that anticipation, and then... stymied at the last.

Not that you ever had anything as glorious as Elena under your tree, but still.

"Do you want me to undo them?" she asks, amusement -- and perhaps a touch of her own frustration -- in her voice.

"No, I've got it," you reply, forcing yourself to be patient with the recalcitrant garment despite your sudden urge to just rip the damn thing- "There!"

Apparently, there's a trick to it.

"Well done," she murmurs, as you skim the delicate material (real silk! vintage!) down her legs.

You flash her a triumphant grin. "I knew I had it."

She looks down at you, hunger darkening her gaze as she holds out a hand to you. "So come back here up here already."

"Well..." You pretend to think about it for a moment, enjoying the way amusement and impatience war in her eyes. Somehow, you don't think you'll ever cease to marvel at every little -- and, sometimes, not so little -- sign that she *wants* you. It's nice to feel... wanted. But when it looks like impatience is gaining the upper hand, you put your hand in hers and let her draw you to your feet. "If you insist."

She kisses you.

So simple an action: lips meeting lips. Her tongue lightly stroking yours, your teeth gently nipping at her lower lip. So easy, so natural. It's like you've been doing this forever. You want to do this forever.

(You're going to have to let her go.)

You never want to let her go.

Your hands on her body. The gentle demand of her touch in return. Kisses, slow and sweet, but with the banked fires of passion simmering beneath the surface. Soon, soon the heat of it will consume you both. But for now, you explore each other, mapping out territory both familiar and new all at the same time. You trace your fingers over her curves, her face, her lips like you're trying to learn every part of her, imprinting the feel of her on your mind. Just like she's stamped indelibly across your heart.

(Because when it's over, when whatever's between the two of you is done, these memories are all you'll have left.)

She unzips your dress and pulls it over your head in one smooth motion, then simply stands there for a long moment, staring like she's never seen you before, like she's drinking in the sight of you. Like she's just as determined to hold onto every little detail as you are. Part of you melts at that look. Part of you *burns*.

Even if you have to bite back an instinctive protest at the way the delicate material of your dress is bunching and twisting in her grip. It's just clothing, it doesn't really matter. (Like Matt says, material objects just aren't that important in the grand scheme of things.) But you really like that dress. Not to mention the fact that it was actually pretty pricey. But you don't want to spoil the mood, and so you keep your complaints to yourself.

Elena derails your runaway train of thought by reaching out and brushing a few loose strands of hair back off your face.

Such a simple gesture. Nothing she hasn't done before, even back when you were still just friends. Back before everything got so complicated. But, somehow, more than anything you've ever done -- more than anything you're about to do -- it just feels so... intimate.

It feels right.

She rests her hand lightly on your cheek, a small, almost wondering smile on her lips. Her eyes are shining with some emotion you can't identify, but which nevertheless calls to you, tugging at something deep inside. Without even thinking about it, you take a step towards her, closing your hand over hers and turning your head slightly to touch your lips to her palm. She sighs softly.

Another step brings you together. Somehow, your fingers have become intertwined, your joined hands held between you like a talisman. It feels almost like the world is holding its breath, like time has lost all meaning, like the two of you are all that matters.

And it's perfect.

(This moment, right here. This is the memory you'll cling to when she's moved on and left you far behind. This is the one you can point to and say: "She loved me, once.")

(And maybe that will be enough.)

You don't know who moves first, but the distance between you is suddenly nonexistent. Your bodies press together, lips seeking, finding, devouring. Your legs tangle and twine; one of yours nestling snugly between her thighs, one of hers wrapping around your waist to pull you even more tightly against her. You wobble a little before catching your balance, bracing Elena with what starts as a steadying hand on her hip but soon turns into you squeezing her ass. She moans into your mouth.

A thought is tickling at the back of your mind, but you can't... quite... And then your peripheral vision registers motion, Elena's other hand, moving as if to throw-

"Wait!"

Elena freezes. "What?" she asks, confused and more than a little breathless. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you say, in what you hope is a reassuring tone. "Just let me...

Carefully disentangling yourself, you reach out and snag the dress that she was about to unceremoniously toss onto the floor. Enlightenment dawns in her eyes, and she lets you take it, watching silently as you shake out the creases and hang it neatly over the back of a chair. When you turn back to Elena, she's grinning from ear to ear.

You look back at her and raise an eyebrow. "What?"

Elena laughs and shakes her head. "Just you." (Sudden pang of hurt: she's *laughing* at you. But you push the thought away almost as fast as it starts to form. No, no, she's laughing *with* you. She's not being mean-spirited; you're just being over-sensitive.) "I can't believe you actually stopped in the middle of *that*" -- she gestures vaguely -- "to hang up your dress."

When she puts it like that, you suppose, it does sound a little funny.

You paint a slightly sheepish smile on your face. "I like this dress," you say, letting your voice express awareness of your own ridiculousness (even if you don't actually think you're being ridiculous right now). "I don't want it to get ruined."

"I'm not complaining," she replies, her smile softening. "One of us should probably think about these things, and I'm afraid I've slipped into bad habits lately."

She means with Katherine, of course. Katherine, whose shadow lies so deeply over you and Elena both that she might as well be right here in the room with you.

But she isn't.

She *isn't*.

This is just the two of you, and you are going to continue what you started when you left Mystic Falls all those hours ago.

This is going to be a Good Night (TM).

So you take a step towards Elena, and your smile shifts into something altogether hungrier as you reach for her, pulling her against your body and running your hands over her back.

"In that case," you murmur, finding the zipper and drawing it slowly, smoothly downwards, "we'd better get you out of this dress before it becomes an unfortunate casualty of those bad habits of yours."

"Probably a good idea," she agrees, holding up her arms obediently.

You let your fingers brush her body as you carefully lift the garment up and off, deliberately taking your time even though part of you is all-but yelling to just tear it *off* her already. You've already resolved to ignore that voice, to take it slowly and savour every moment. After all, it isn't like you have to worry about Jeremy walking in on you, or Stefan calling round unannounced to check up on Elena, or-

"Hey, where are you?"

Startled, you look up to see Elena eyeing you quizzically. "What?"

She curls an arm loosely around your waist, more comforting hug than passionate embrace. "You loooked kinda distant for a second, there. Are you okay?" Doubt shadows her features like a cloud. "Is *this* okay?" A wave of her hand takes in the two of you, the hotel room and quite probably the whole town of What's-Its-Name.

"Oh. Yes." You smile. "Yes, of course it is." You would leave it there, would say something flippant and then simply distract her, but this is *Elena*. The person (you love) you've been friends with your whole life. So you take a deep breath and try to explain. "It's just... I was just trying to convince myself that I don't actually have to keep an ear open for unexpected guests."

Elena looks relieved, smiling back at you with understanding. "I know what you mean. I'm having the same problem. I know we're safely away from the madness that is Mystic Falls, but I'm still half-expecting some of it to walk through that door any minute now." She sighs, resting her head on your shoulder. "There are just so many damn... *complications*."

"Yeah."

There doesn't seem to be anything else to say in response to her observations, so you don't try. Instead, you hang her dress safely over the back of a chair, wrap yourself around her and run your fingers through her hair.

"Mmmm," she all-but purrs, her voice a little muffled against your shoulder. "That's nice."

"It's getting long," you observe, loving the contrast of dark hair against pale skin, admiring the way the strands ripple like silk when you stroke them.

"I know," she says, her tone a little resigned. "I should probably get it cut."

"You could grow it." The words slip out without conscious thought, but when you stop to consider it... "I think it would suit you." A sudden mental image: Elena, wearing her hair down to her thighs. And nothing else. Yeah, that would totally work.

"I suppose I could," she says, sounding a little surprised.

"You wanted to, when we were kids," you remember. "At least until-"

"The Great Gum Disaster," she finishes, laughing. "I'm amazed you remember that."

"Apparently it made an impression," you say, wryly.

"Apparently so."

She draws back a little, looking at you with sparkling eyes, cheeks flushed and lips curved in a joyful smile. And you realise it all over again: she's beautiful.

Attractive.

Desirable.

Mostly naked.

Right *here*.

And she is the *only* thing that matters right now. So, although it feels like you've resolved to do this a thousand and one times tonight already, you tell yourself firmly once more that the rest of the world can just go *hang*.

From here on in, it's just you and Elena.

And that truly ginormous bed.

"I don't have to ask what *that* look means," Elena observes, her voice low and amused.

"Oh?" you reply, archly. "What does it mean?" You lean in and kiss her lightly.

"It means you want me," she murmurs against your lips.

You lower your voice to a whisper, as if imparting some great and powerful secret. "I do want you."

"Good," she says, sliding one hand up your back and curling the other gently, yet firmly, around your hip. "Because I want you, too."

"We should do something about that," you note, already starting to suit the action to the words.

"Mmmm... We should." Her hands are just as eloquent as yours.

"Elena."

"Yes, Caroline?"

"Let's go to bed."

 

Your lips on hers, or hers on yours. You don't know, don't care who moves first. All that matters is that you move together, to a rhythm as old as time itself.

Elena tangles her fingers in your hair, you press your hand against her back, just between her shoulder blades. She clutches your hip, you squeeze her ass. Your bodies fit together like they were meant for this, made for this. Skin to skin, aside from the few remaining barriers of cloth.

It's way past time those were gone.

You undo the clasp of her bra one-handed, leaning your upper body back just far enough to ease the garment out from between your bodies. Elena, the minx, takes advantage of the movement to nudge your legs apart with a twist of her hips, slipping her hand between, the sudden shock of *contact* arcing through your body so that you gasp into her mouth. She laughs, a low, throaty chuckle that seems to go right through your body.

"Don't worry about hanging that up," she murmurs. "It's only underwear. It'll survive."

You swallow hard. "It's pretty nice underwear," you reply, a little proud of the way your voice remains more or less level. "And it did look fabulous on you." But it's a fairly half-hearted protest, and then she starts moving her fingers, and all of a sudden you come around to her point of view.

Throwing the bra in the vague general direction of a chair, you caress her bared breasts with both hands, cupping them, stroking them, kneading them gently, playing with her nipples so that she shivers and moans. All the while, her fingers are moving, moving, *moving* between your legs, back and forth over the damp material of your panties until you start to tremble, your knees going weak.

"Hold on to me," she murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist. "I won't let you fall."

All you can do is nod helplessly, clutching her tightly as the climax ripples through you. You throw your head back, gasping, your whole body shaking. Your hands move of their own accord against her skin, fingers splayed and hooked, nails raking down her back. She inhales sharply, jerking against you, the sound and movement yanking you out of your pleasure-hazed fog to look at her with concern.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-" You bite your lip, running your hands gently, soothingly over her skin. "Did I hurt you? Was that too hard?"

She shakes her head, her eyes wide with something that looks like shock. And something else. "No. No, it was fine. It was..." She takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Do it again."

A little hesitantly, you draw your nails down her back again, deliberately this time, starting at the base of her neck and ending at the waistband of her panties. She shivers a little.

"Is that nice?" you ask, fighting back memories of your nails on someone else's skin, of that someone shuddering and writhing, demanding more, deeper, harder.

"Harder," she murmurs, like an echo of the voice in your head.

You start to obey, but then pause, uncertain. Memories of someone who isn't Elena threaten to intrude once more, but you push them back behind their walls, making yourself take a deep breath before you speak.

"I don't want to hurt you," you say softly.

Elena looks at you for a long moment, her expression... conflicted. "I'm not fragile, Caroline," she points out gently.

"I know." You give her a wry smile. "But I'm not exactly a frail waif myself these days."

She snorts, kissing you lightly on the lips. "Even in the throes of passion, I doubt you'd do any real damage. And unless you're wearing vervain nail polish, I'd heal quickly enough in any case."

You're not sure which of the two of you she's trying to convince. You kiss her back while you struggle to put what you want to say into words.

"It's just... I just..." You sigh. "You don't... You don't seem all that sure you really do want 'harder'." The sudden flush in her cheeks tells you that you're not wrong, as does the way her gaze flickers away from yours, just for a moment. "And even if there isn't much likelihood of serious injury, between both of our uncertainties there's still a fairly high chance that I'll end up hurting you by accident. Then it'll be guilt and apologies, weeping and wailing, endless reassurances..." You shrug a little awkwardly. "Okay, so I'm exaggerating a little bit, but you have to admit that it would probably knock us both out of the mood, at least for a while. And even if we *do* get back into the swing of things again, all of that mess will forever be a part of this memory. The memory of our first time together. I'm not saying never, and there'll be plenty of other times to explore and figure these things out. But we'll only have one first time together, and I just don't want to spoil it."

(All of which is true, of course. But there's something you're not saying, another reason for your reluctance that you're keeping to yourself.)

(You just want it to be different with Elena.)

Belatedly, you realise you're breathing heavily. Your cheeks are probably flushed too. 'Oh my god,' you think, mortified. 'Of all the times to launch into a speech...'

You just hope that Elena doesn't think too badly of you, that you'll be able to salvage the night somehow, that you haven't just irreparably ruined things.

You start to apologise, but Elena brushes a thumb over your lips, smiling a little ruefully.

"You're right," she says, softly. "It just... surprised me, I guess. How good it felt. But I don't want to... to make you uncomfortable."

Maybe she doesn't quite get it after all. But that's okay. Her response is enough to ease your tension, to let you unwind enough to give her a genuine smile. "Let's just see what happens, okay?"

Her own smile brightens. "Okay." She kisses you softly, her hands sliding over your skin.

And, just like that, you want her again. You kiss her back hungrily, need like fire in your veins. She gasps into your mouth, meeting and matching your passion with her own. Her fingers pluck at the fastening of your bra.

"Now, where were we...?" she murmurs between kisses.

"I believe," you say, mock-thoughtfully, slipping your fingers into her panties, "that we were getting naked."

"And after that?" she asks, wriggling your bra out from between the two of you and flinging it aside.

"We were going to make love." You're startled to hear the almost reverent note in your voice, but then Elena chuckles, deep in her throat, and thought dissolves in a rush of desire.

"So what are we waiting for?" she asks.

And the only answer to that question is: nothing at all.

 

You slide her panties down her legs and she kicks them impatiently away, all-but dragging you back up to her level with such force that the two of you topple over, landing on the yielding firmness of the bed.

"Oops," she says, not sounding sorry in the slightest as she buries her head in your breasts. Her mouth finds one taut nipple, licking and suckling it until you arch against her, panting. One of her hands busies itself with your other breast, stroking and squeezing while her other hands wanders southwards again. You gasp as she presses her fingers between your legs, again -- in frustrated disappointment this time -- when she stops. "Forgot about those," she almost growls.

The room whirls briefly around you and then you're on your back on the bed, looking up at Elena. She grins wickedly, then lowers her mouth to yours, kissing you deeply on the lips before moving down your body to slide your panties off. She flings them carelessly behind her somewhere, but you're already moving, surging up to meet her, your lips on hers, your hands roaming the smooth, supple expanse of her skin. She leans into you, her hands pressing on your hips as she tries to guide you back down to the bed, but you resist, turning slightly and seeking out the sensitive spot just inside her hip with your fingers, lightly plying your nails on the soft skin. She gasps, the sound seemingly one of surprise as much as pleasure, and you take advantage of the moment to roll her onto her back.

"How did you know-?" she starts to ask, then shakes her head, clearly answering her own question.

You stop her mouth with kisses before she can let the word out, before that name can slip free to hang ominously in the air between the two of you. And when she kisses you back, it's like a promise, an affirmation that this night is about the two of you. The two of you and no one else.

"Your turn," you murmur against Elena's lips, slipping a hand between her thighs.

"But I want to make you feel good," she protests, starting to sit up.

"You did, you do, you are," you reassure her. (And you wonder if she really wants you to lie back and let her take the lead, or if she thinks that's what you want. But you've never played the pillow princess before, and you have no intention of doing so now. Not with Elena.)

"We don't -- ah! -- have to take turns," she pants, arching a little as you ease a finger inside her.

"True," you say, stroking her clitoris with your thumb. "But right now, I want to make you feel good." You move your hand between her legs, pressing your finger deep into the moist warmth of her, pulling back almost to her entrance, then plunging inside again. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

And then you pause. "Unless you want me to stop?"

"No!" she almost groans, her voice a little ragged around the edges. "Don't... Don't stop." She looks up at you, and when your eyes meet hers it's like you've been hit by a lightning bolt. There, beneath the need and the hunger, there's something else, something softer. This isn't just a mindless tumble for Elena.

She cares for you.

But you already knew that. Elena cares for everybody, and her friends most of all.

(Whatever this may look like to an uninformed observer, it is just friendship. That's all it is, all it can ever be.)

(And you're fine with that.)

(Even if you're not fine with that.)

Words bubble up in your throat, cluster thickly on your tongue.

(I love you.)

But this isn't a time for words, and so you choke back your words and kiss her. You move your hand between her legs, plunging into her again and again and again until she throws her head back and cries out in pleasure.

She calls out your *name*.

And your heart soars.

(Your heart tears in two, because against your will, despite your caution, despite knowing that this could never last, you realise that you've actually let yourself do the one thing you swore you never would.)

(You've let yourself hope.)

You've let yourself hope.

And the knowledge hits you with an almost physical jolt, making you reel inside as you realise: 'Things can't go on like this.'

You crash back down to earth just in time to see her eyes shining like stars.

"Wow," she breathes, smiling up at you.

Instinctively, belatedly, you slam your mask in place and smile back.

"Does the lady approve?"

"She does." She starts to say something else, but then the hint of a frown passes over her face. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Me?" You giggle, as if you find the question absurd. "Of course I am." You let your eyes shine back at her, softening your voice as you add: "Better than okay."

Elena looks at you searchingly for a moment longer, and then her expression clears. "Good," she pronounces, firmly. "Now where were we?"


	6. Main act - Counterpoint

Katherine slams into the headboard, the shock of the impact shuddering through her, making her gasp; the weight of Caroline's body on hers pinning her in place. There is something wild in Caroline's eyes, a feral glint that goes right to Katherine's core. Her hands grip Katherine's shoulders tightly, almost cruelly, her chest heaving as if she's run a marathon, as if there just isn't enough air in the room to fill her lungs. Her whole body is tense. She wants to strike, is poised to strike.

Katherine wonders what she's waiting for.

Maybe she just needs a little more encouragement.

So Katherine bucks and twists, her own fangs lengthening as she wriggles an arm free, yanks aside the strap of Caroline's sundress and-

Crack!

The sharp sting of Caroline's hand across her face.

Her own momentum turned against her; her body thumping into the duvet with enough force to bounce the mattress springs as Caroline flings her down onto the bed.

An almost-hesitation, Caroline starting to *think* again, rather than to react; rather than following through and *finishing* what she *started*.

So Katherine wraps her legs around Caroline's waist and *pulls*, jerking Caroline forward to sprawl atop her on the bed. Tangling ungentle fingers in Caroline's hair, she pulls her down, pressing their mouths together.

The kiss is forceful and hard, almost bruising; driven by a heady brew of hunger and passion, lust and anger. One of Katherine's favourite cocktails. Both of them struggle for control, neither giving an inch. Neither of them prepared to yield. At least not that easily.

Katherine, of course, cheats.

Sliding her legs over Caroline's hips, Katherine hooks her feet around, pressing her heels on the insides of Caroline's legs. A sudden twist, and there's enough space for Katherine to wriggle a hand between their bodies, to slide it between Caroline's parted thighs, to press against the moist heat of her.

Caroline cries out, but Katherine swallows the sound with hungry kisses. She pulls back, but Katherine's feet are braced against her legs, holding her in place.

Keeping her right where Katherine wants her.

Katherine slips her fingers into Caroline's panties, her fingertips gliding easily over the slick flesh. Her movements are sure and steady as she navigates the ridges and folds by touch alone.

Like braille, she thinks to herself, amused, even as her breath quickens, her skin hot with desire.

She circles around her target, dipping a finger inside to test the waters (metaphorically speaking), an electric thrill prickling her skin at finding Caroline ready for her to take the plunge. She thrusts a finger inside, as deep and hard as she can, pulling back and plunging in again, over and over and over again. She hits just the right rhythm, maintaining it with ease despite the slightly awkward angle, adding a second finger and moving, moving, moving, moving...

The muscles of Caroline's legs are taut and rigid against Katherine's feet. She kisses Katherine with renewed urgency, her fangs grazing Katherine's mouth. Katherine gasps at the sharp, stinging pain, at the sudden taste of blood on her tongue, nipping at Caroline's lower lip with her own teeth. Caroline jerks back sharply, making Katherine wonder if she's trying to pull away in earnest, but then her fingers tangle in the material of Katherine's blouse and she *pulls*.

Cloth rips, buttons popping and pinging in all directions to skitter and bounce on the floorboards. Caroline's eyes are completely black, all pupil, the skin around them taut and writhing as she looks down at Katherine, who is still working her fingers between Caroline's legs.

Caroline makes a sound, deep in her throat, that's part-way between a moan and a growl.

Katherine smiles, starting to say something; something calculated to inflame and provoke. Another kiss, another slap: it's all good. But Caroline interrupts before the first word is out of her mouth, covering Katherine's breast with one hand, wrenching her head to one side with the other.

Caroline buries her fangs in Katherine's exposed throat.

Katherine's whole body tenses, her back arching, her fingers splaying and twitching.

Katherine and Caroline both cry out.

Caroline's mouth hot on Katherine's neck, the sharp, exquisite pain of fangs penetrating her skin, sinking deeply into her flesh. Caroline's hand on her breast, grasping and squeezing -- almost hard enough to hurt, but not quite. Caroline, hot and slick, clenching around her fingers.

Caroline gives a final, full-body shudder, and slumps limply, panting. Katherine lets her feet fall free of Caroline's legs, sliding her fingers out from between them. She shoves Caroline to one side, perhaps a little more forcefully than strictly necessary, smiling at Caroline's startled yelp as she rolls right off the bed and lands on the floor with a thump.

"Oops," Katherine murmurs, unrepentantly, sitting upright and stretching luxuriously. She glances over to where Caroline's angry eyes are just visible over the edge of the bed.

"You did that on purpose!" Caroline accuses, pulling herself back up onto the bed and glowering at Katherine.

"What, fucked you?" Katherine brings her sticky fingers up to her mouth, holding Caroline's gaze as she slowly licks them clean. She lets Caroline see how turned on she is, how intoxicating she finds the taste of Caroline on her skin. "Guilty as charged," she breathes.

"You pushed me off the bed," says Caroline, but her voice is more breathy than shrill, and she seems hypnotised by the slow, rhythmic movements of Katherine's tongue.

Katherine shrugs. "You ripped my shirt," she points out, like it's the most reasonable thing in the world. For emphasis, she shrugs the tattered remnants off with a languid roll of her shoulders. "I *liked* this shirt," she pouts.

Caroline looks a little sheepish, starts to say something that's almost certainly an apology, but Katherine isn't having any of it. Quick as a heartbeat, she grabs hold of Caroline's dress and tears it in two, throwing the pieces aside like so much rubbish while Caroline just stands there, shocked.

"Mmmm," Katherine purrs, running her gaze appreciatively over Caroline's body. "Nice underwear." She smiles at the growing fury in Caroline's expression, at the way her fists are clenching and she seems to be struggling for words. "*Now* we're even."

"You *bitch*!" Caroline growls, the sound of her voice thrilling through Katherine, tightening muscles low in her belly.

"Tell me something I don't know," Katherine sing-songs, inching forward on her knees until she's right up in Caroline's face. "So what are you going to do about it?" 

She lays a hand on Caroline's cheek, the tips of her nails resting ever-so-lightly on the soft skin, applying just enough pressure for Caroline to feel it. Her other hand finds Caroline's breast, brushing a thumb over the taut nipple. Caroline's breath catches in her throat, her hands coming up as if of their own volition, sliding over the exposed skin of Katherine's back.

"Why are you doing this?" Caroline breathes against her lips, the words barely audible. But Katherine doesn't want her *words*. Oh, she supposes that it's a little impressive -- irritating, but impressive -- the way Caroline keeps clawing back her self-control, but it does kind of defeat the object of tonight's lesson.

Oh, well. She'll just have to try harder.

Katherine smiles, kissing Caroline slow and deep as she slides her hand down from Caroline's cheek, so that now she's cupping both of Caroline's breasts in her hands, taking a moment or three to enjoy the soft firmness filling her palms before answering the question.

"Because I can," she murmurs, between kisses. She doesn't bother to ask which 'this' Caroline means. "Because I want to." They're both breathing heavily now. Caroline unhooks Katherine's bra, pulling the lacy material out from between their bodies and tossing it aside. Katherine hisses as Caroline's hands brush her bare breasts, moans softly as they keep moving downwards, Caroline's fingers sliding over her stomach to work at the buckle of her belt. "Because you let me."

Without warning, she pinches Caroline's nipple cruelly between her thumb and forefinger. When Caroline yelps and jerks back, Katherine grabs her shoulders and pushes her down onto the bed.

"Ow! What are you-?" Caroline tries to sit up, but Katherine straddles her thighs, holding her in place with her body. Pushing Caroline's face to one side, she leans in and lightly nips at her neck, not even breaking the skin.

Caroline goes rigid, her breath coming fast and shallow.

"What do you think I'm doing?"

"I think you're playing with me."

Katherine nips a little harder this time. "And you're letting me," she purrs, lightly rolling Caroline's nipple -- the one she pinched -- between her thumb and forefinger, smiling when she draws a moan from somewhere deep in Caroline's throat.

"I thought you were stronger than this, Caroline. I thought you had more self-respect. But here you are on your back, practically begging me to take you."

"I am *not* begging." Caroline starts to sit up again, but Katherine pushes her down and smiles maliciously, thrilling at the real anger sparking in Caroline's eyes.

"Could've fooled me." She opens her mouth wide, letting Caroline see her fangs lengthen, winking as she catches Caroline's eye. Tilting her head, she draws herself up to strike...

...Only to find herself thrown sideways as Caroline bucks beneath her. She twists around, landing half-on, half-off the bed, but before she can catch her balance Caroline's hands are on her, dragging her back. Caroline's nails dig into her shoulders as she roughly throws Katherine down onto the bed again, scoring fiery lines across her skin. There's a not-quite-pause, a flash of hesitation that Katherine senses more than sees. So she surges upwards, lunging for Caroline with fangs and claws bared, is rewarded by a predator's instincts.

Sudden flare of pain in her cheek, the blow snapping her head to the side. Her wrists caught and held in an iron grip, her body bowed backwards as she's forced back down to the bed. She struggles against the inexorable pressure, going for Caroline's throat, only to be brought up short by the strain in her shoulders and back.

(It's a tricky thing, judging how much to struggle. Enough to make it interesting, enough to trigger Caroline's feral side, to push her on when otherwise she might pull back. Not enough to make her think that Katherine might actually *want* her to stop.)

Caroline lets go of one wrist to grabs a handful of her hair, yanking on it hard enough to make Katherine's eyes water, forcing her head back, exposing the length of her neck.

(Because then she'd pause and question and stop short of all those delicious things that she could otherwise be doing; that Katherine *knows* she's capable of doing to her. And that just is not acceptable.)

Katherine reaches out with her freed hand, hooking her nails into the thin material of Caroline's bra, pulling until the fabric stretches taut, the seams starting to strain.

(After all, it's not like Katherine couldn't break free if she really wanted to. But she *really* doesn't want to right now.)

"No!" Caroline snaps, releasing Katherine's other wrist to recapture the first one, twisting Katherine's fingers until, hissing, she looses her grip on Caroline's bra. "You are not going to destroy any more of my clothing today."

"That sounds like a challenge," Katherine says, twisting her head so Caroline can see the smirk on her lips.

Caroline makes a wordless exclamation of frustrated fury, then abruptly lunges forward and bites Katherine again. Her fangs sink deeper than last time, and Katherine's cry is almost a scream. She clutches at Caroline, with her free hand, fingernails digging into the smooth curve of her hip so that Caroline jerks against her, biting down harder still.

The world whites out.

When Katherine's awareness filters back again, Caroline is pulling away from her throbbing neck, shifting her weight downwards. Frowning, Katherine starts to protest, to complain, to *demand*, but then it registers on her that Caroline isn't actually leaving.

Far from it.

Caroline gets her belt undone, unbuttoning and unzipping her jeans with dextrous fingers. She glances up then, smiling tightly when she sees Katherine watching her.

"I'm not finished with you yet," she says.

"I should hope not," Katherine replies lightly. She reaches up to touch her neck. The wounds are already healing, of course, but her skin is still wet with blood. She draws a finger through it and touches it to her tongue, keeping her eyes on Caroline all the while.

Caroline's gaze darkens. She hooks her fingers in the waistband of Katherine's jeans and starts to peel them down, growling impatiently as the material bunches up under her hands, rather than helpfully sliding down. Katherine almost regrets not wearing something a little looser-fitting. Maybe a skirt or a dress. On the other hand, the frustration of having to work the jeans over Katherine's hips and ass seems to be doing interesting things to Caroline's temper...

As that thought passes through Katherine's mind, Caroline abruptly seems to lose the last shreds of her patience, simply grabbing the front of Katherine's jeans and *pulling*. There's a tearing sound as the seams split, as Katherine feels them suddenly loosen. With a triumphant exclamation, Caroline seizes panties and jeans both, unceremoniously yanking them down Katherine's legs and off, throwing them carelessly behind her to land on the floor somewhere.

Katherine jerks upright. "You-" hypocrite, she was going to say, albeit with a note of admiration in her voice. She doesn't get the chance.

Caroline surges forward, knocking her flat again and rolling half on top of her, hooking a leg over one of Katherine's and pulling them apart, sliding a hand between. Katherine gasps as Caroline's thumb finds her clitoris, as Caroline's fingers trace her entrance, dipping inside her.

"You're wet," Caroline murmurs huskily.

Katherine makes an inarticulate noise in response, lifting her head to kiss Caroline hungrily, running her hand down Caroline's back to squeeze the curve of her ass. Caroline kisses her back, her hand between Katherine's legs moving with a slow, even rhythm; thumb stroking back and forth, fingers dipping in and out. Katherine's breath quickens as Caroline moves faster; she gasps when Caroline's other hand cups her bare breast, playing with the nipple. She feels the pressure start to build and build and build...

And Caroline stops moving.

Katherine's eyes fly open -- they'd drifted half-closed -- and she glares at Caroline, who's looking entirely far too pleased with herself. Not to mention firmly in control again.

"You know," Caroline says, her voice low and amused. "It seems to me like *you're* the one begging to be taken."

Katherine blinks. And then she smiles. "Is that so?" she murmurs, and her voice is ice and razor-blades. Caroline's brow furrows, her expression a little uncertain. Katherine's smile broadens.

She's still smiling when she draws back her hand and smacks Caroline hard on the ass.

The whipcrack sound of it is loud in the sudden, tense silence. Caroline jumps and squeals (unflattering or not, that really is the best word for the noise she makes). There's a distracting moment as her hand tenses between Katherine's legs, thrusting her fingers deeper inside, sending sparks of pleasure crackling along Katherine's already-heightened nerve-endings. It would be so easy to relax and let the waves carry her away, but she's always been good at focusing through distractions.

When she wants to.

She's certainly sufficiently motivated right now.

While Caroline's still reeling, indignation and outright anger starting to percolate through the shock, Katherine is already moving. In the blink of an eye, Caroline is flat on her back and Katherine is kneeling between her legs. Smirking in that way that seems pretty much guaranteed to put Caroline's hackles up, Katherine caresses Caroline's breasts. The conflict between fury and arousal in Caroline's eyes, in the way her body arches and her fists clench, nearly gets Katherine off right then and there.

It's beautiful.

Caroline's beautiful.

But she could be so much more.

Slowly, deliberately, Katherine wriggles her fingers inside Caroline's bra, gripping the material firmly.

Caroline glares daggers at her. "Don't you *dare*," she says.

Katherine quirks an eyebrow at her. "Or what?" she asks, matter-of-factly. And then she casually tears the bra -- underwire and all -- in two.

Caroline splutters incoherently as Katherine holds up the pieces. Katherine smiles broadly and drops them on Caroline's face. Caroline claws them aside and bolts upright, but Katherine firmly pushes her back down again.

"I didn't say you could get up yet," she admonishes, tapping Caroline lightly on the cheek. She runs her hands down Caroline's neck, over her breasts and down her stomach, pausing to wink at Caroline before calmly ripping her panties off her. "Would you look at that?" she murmurs, her voice sugary-sweet. "I guess they just don't make clothing the way they used to, huh?"

"You utter bitch," Caroline grinds out.

"You said that before," Katherine sighs. "You really should try to come up with something more original."

Before Caroline can come up with a response to that, Katherine tosses the panties aside, slips her hands under Caroline's thighs and lifts. Caroline squawks as her lower body is raised into the air, flailing for balance until she realises that her legs are resting on Katherine's shoulders, that Katherine's hands on her thighs are holding her in place, that she's not going to fall.

That Katherine has her right where she wants her.

Katherine leans forward and flicks Caroline's clitoris with her tongue, once, before pressing her mouth to the hot, moist folds.

Caroline cries out at that first, light contact, the sound deeping into a moan as Katherine stimulates her with lips and tongue. Katherine also moans, delighting in the taste of Caroline's arousal, in the way her legs clench around Katherine's shoulders, in the small sounds of pleasure she's making, the way her breath hisses through her teeth, those sounds becoming more and more urgent as Katherine brings her to the very brink of orgasm...

At which point Katherine draws back and, like a striking snake, turns to sink her fangs deeply into the skin of Caroline's inner thigh.

Caroline's scream: a symphony of pain, pleasure and frustration, with an undercurrent of pure, white-hot rage. Music to Katherine's ears.

The tastes of blood and sex mingling on her tongue, an intoxicating mix that tingles all the way down.

And as the immediate thrill fades, as Caroline's cry dissolves into muttered threats and invective, as she starts to twitch and struggle, the hot prickle of anticipation across Katherine's skin.

Caroline cannot, will not let this challenge, this *taunt* go unanswered. Any moment now, she's going to break free. She's going to break free and she's going to make Katherine pay.

Katherine's stomach twists like she's standing at the edge of a precipice. Her breath quickens, her pulse races. There's a flare of heat from between her legs.

She can't wait to see what Caroline will do.

Fortunately, she doesn't have to wait long.

Apparently giving up on trying to twist her legs free, Caroline abrubtly jacknifes, pulling her knees into her chest, pulling Katherine along for the ride. Katherine loses her grip on Caroline's legs, losing her balance and sprawling forward until something -- Caroline's foot? -- thumps into her shoulder hard, abrubtly reversing her momentum. Now she's sailing backwards, scrabbling uselessly for a handhold as she hurtles off the bed and hits the floor with an impact that rattles her bones.

Caroline is on her before she's managed to catch her breath, before she's even properly finished falling; half-crouching over Katherine, half-straddling her. Katherine lashes out almost blindly, instinctively (well, not *quite* instinctively, but close enough from the outside), and her hand is caught and held, crushed in Caroline's iron grip. Her head is snapped sideways by the force of the return blow, Caroline's other hand cracking against her cheekbone once, twice, three times. The last time, Caroline's fingernails bite into the skin of her cheek, drawing a sharp gasp, not from her, but from Caroline.

Katherine is half-expecting her to pull back again, to hesitate, to apologise, but instead of shocking her out of her feral, furious assault, drawing Katherine's blood seems only to spur Caroline onwards.

Flinging Katherine's bruised and throbbing hand aside, Caroline grabs her by the shoulders and pulls her up, biting deeply into the junction of Katherine's neck and shoulder. She doesn't just taste, she *feeds*, gulping down Katherine's blood like she can't get enough of it, like she's dying of thirst and has just found the last well on earth.

*There* we go, Katherine thinks to herself, even as she screams and struggles in Caroline's implacable embrace. That's more like it.

She rakes the nails of her good hand down Caroline's back, making her jerk and cry out and bite down harder, clutch tighter, carving bloody furrows into Katherine's flesh with her own nails. Katherine writhes and arches, or tries to, her breasts brushing against Caroline's as she squirms, and as *that* circuit lights up she realises that Caroline is *almost* straddling her thigh, that Caroline's knee is *almost* in Katherine's crotch.

So near and yet so far.

And Katherine *wants*. She *needs*.

She *moves*.

Caroline may have her upper body in a death grip, but she can still twist her hips just a little, can still move her lower body just a little, just enough, just... *there*.

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, skin on skin; sliding, gliding, back and forth, just enough, sensation growing, spreading, like there's a wildfire in the heart of her and her whole body is made of kindling, just waiting for a spark, and the fire is growing and the heat is building and any... second... now...

Ignition.

Katherine screams, every muscle in her body tensing as the white-hot blaze of climax rips through her body. A moment (a lifetime) later, Caroline flings her head back and her voice joins Katherine's as she gives voice to her own release.

They scream and shudder together.

They burn together.

And when Katherine's fire burns itself out, she looks deep into Caroline's eyes, wide and startled and still hazed with pleasure, and she smiles.

It isn't a kind smile.

"As I said," she says, her voice low and self-satisfied, the words barbed and very precisely enunciated. "Begging to be taken."

Caroline blinks rapidly, her mouth working soundlessly as she chokes on whatever words are trying to spill from her lips and out into the space between them. Her hands spasm and clench on Katherine's shoulders, her nails cutting into Katherine's healing skin once again. Katherine smirks and kisses her lightly on the lips.

Caroline's eyes narrow, and she stops trying to speak. She stands abruptly, dragging Katherine bodily up with her by the death-grip she has on shoulders. Katherine twists her body, trying to get her feet under her, but before she can catch her balance, Caroline spins on her heel and throws her in the general direction of the bed. Katherine clips the frame with her hip, bouncing off the edge of the bed. She starts to crumple to the ground, but Caroline backhands her viciously across the face, the blow spinning her around and sending her sprawling across the mattress, landing on her front. She braces her arms, pushing herself up, and Caroline shoves her back down again, pushing her face into the mattress. Katherine struggles and squirms.

Crack!

Sudden shock of impact: Caroline's hand across her ass.

The unexpectedness of it makes Katherine's breath catch in her throat, stills her limbs for a brief instant before she starts to struggle again with renewed vigour. Caroline slaps her again, harder; keeps hitting her across the ass and thighs. The more she struggles, the harder the blows, stinging across her skin, stoking the need inside her until she can't keep back small sounds starting to bubble up in her throat. First panting, then whimpering, then a low, drawn-out moan.

There's a strangled, furious noise from Caroline, and the blows rain down faster and harder.

Katherine's lips twist in an unseen smile, sly and pleased as she shudders and moans beneath the weight of Caroline's anger. This is better than Caroline giving into her hunger, this is Caroline giving her temper free reign. Every little sound from Katherine's lips, every twitch and wriggle of her body, seems to drive Caroline's rage to new heights, so that she takes it out on Katherine's body.

Which makes Katherine writhe and moan, which makes Caroline even angrier...

It's such a twisted, glorious, wonderfully vicious cycle.

Just the thought of it makes Katherine tingle, deep inside, raises goosebumps all along her skin and sends sparks arcing down her spine. She moans again, her thighs quivering with tension.

"You twisted fucking *bitch*," Caroline spits. "You're really getting off on this. You wanted this all along, didn't you? You've been *trying* to push me, provoke me, piss me off. So I'd, what? Lose control? Lash out? Hurt you?"

Clever girl, Katherine thinks, not exactly surprised. But it's not like the realisation is making Caroline any less angry. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Just as planned.

"What do you think?" she replies, gasping, her voice muffled by the duvet.

"I think you're the one *begging*," Caroline murmurs, slapping her ass again for emphasis, hard enough that Katherine sees stars. "I think you've been begging for this all night. I think you want me to hurt you. I think you want me to *fuck* you. It's all the same to you, isn't it?" Another slap. "Isn't it?"

"I'm sure I couldn't possibly contradict you, Caroline," Katherine purrs. And then: "Ah!" as Caroline lands a flurry of blows, sharp and oh-so-sweet, nails biting into her skin.

Caroline is panting now, her breathing almost as ragged and hoarse as Katherine's.

"Well, I hope you're happy now," she snarls, bringing her hand down again and again and again. "I hope you're getting exactly what you *wanted*."

Katherine tenses in anticipation of another blow, but instead feels her legs roughly shoved -- kicked? -- apart, one at a time, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. Even half-expecting what happens next, she still jumps and gasps as Caroline slides a hand between her thighs.

The weight on her back increases as Caroline bends over her, breasts soft against Katherine's back, to whisper in her ear.

"Tell me you want this."

Katherine has to moisten her lips before she can speak. "I want this."

"You want me to fuck you."

It isn't quite a question, but she answers it anyway.

"Yes."

There's a long, tense pause, and then Katherine's face is shoved deep into the duvet as Caroline pushes up off her back, peeling herself off Katherine's body until only her hands remain in contact, one on her back and one between her legs.

Katherine tenses, waiting for Caroline to make good on her promise (her threat?), frustrated beyond belief when Caroline's hands remain motionless on her skin.

She waits some more. Still nothing.

She starts to raise her head, but Caroline shoves her back down flat. Quick as a flash, she slides her hand out from between Katherine's legs and whips it across Katherine's ass again and again; hard, stinging, merciless blows that make Katherine moan and writhe beneath her hands.

"Thought you... were going... to fuck me," Katherine pants.

"Maybe I'm not ready to fuck you yet," Caroline growls. "Maybe I want to hear you scream some more first."

With that, she rakes her nails down the length of Katherine's back and Katherine can't help but oblige her, damn-near howling at the tidal-wave of sensations coursing through her. Lines of fire carved into her back; the constant stinging of her ass and thighs. The way her stomach twists at the cruel edge to Caroline's voice. The throbbing pulse of need between her legs.

She lets Caroline have it all -- pain, pleasure, need and frustration -- giving her what she wants.

And Caroline gives her what she wants in return, thrusting fingers -- two? three? -- deep inside Katherine, fucking her hard and fast and angry.

It's almost right on the edge of being painful, but that's what makes it so damn good, along with knowing that she's provoked Caroline to this point, to going beyond her usual, self-imposed boundaries. Knowing that Caroline is getting off on this too, no matter how much she might claim it's all on Katherine.

It's really quite simple: if this was all temper, all losing control and lashing out and giving into vampire instincts, that would explain the biting. It would explain Caroline slapping her and flinging her around the room. It wouldn't explain *this*.

Oh, she'll back down afterwards. Maybe apologise, maybe get angry in a different, colder way. But Katherine can deal with the aftermath... afterwards.

Right here, right now, Katherine is going to have her due. It's certainly been a long time coming.

No pun intended.

Without warning, Caroline swipes her nails down Katherine's back again. Katherine arches and cries out; so close now, so... very... close as Caroline leans over her again, nipping at her neck with sharp fangs, whispering hoarsely in her ear.

"So this is what you really want, Katherine? For me to use you? For me to fuck you like the slut that you are?" Caroline pauses to bite Katherine again, harder this time, continuing to thrust roughly between her legs, fingers sliding easily in and out.

Katherine gasps and quivers, almost on the very edge of climax even though she frowns inwardly, Caroline's words -- especially *that* word -- stinging in a way that has absolutely nothing at all to do with pleasure. She makes a mental note to speak with Caroline about this, afterwards. Maybe long afterwards, depending, but it's a conversation they have to have sometime soon. Because the names we hurl at others in anger are often the names we give ourselves, deep down, and the thought of Caroline turning that kind of poison on herself offends Katherine down to her very bones.

Because...

Because...

Because she's a girl in love, of course. Just like she was a hundred or more times before.

Just like she always is.

But thinking can go fuck itself right now, because Caroline is fucking Katherine just right, just the way she likes it, and now... she's... right...

*There*!

And as the orgasm rips through her body, Katherine throws her head back, opens her mouth and *screams*.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends the smut. It's still a little experimental, so if anyone has any constructive criticism/thoughts, we'd love to hear them.


	7. Finale - Melody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long gap between posts

We lie there on the bed, afterwards, satiated and satisfied. Silent. It's a comfortable silence, if not a comforting one. There's no need to fill it with words, to speak just for the sake of it.

Anyway, Katherine's never really been one for pillow talk.

Not unless she has a point to make.

I look over at her, stretched out like a cat beside me, limbs languid and liquid. A tiny smile -- more of a smirk, really -- plays lazily about her lips and her eyes are half-closed.

So are mine, I realise. In fact, she could be my mirror image. Or I hers. Both of us sprawled and smiling like the cats that got the cream.

Not the most inappropriate comparison, I suppose.

Suddenly and from out of nowhere, I find myself wondering what Caroline is like, would be like, after making love. Somehow, I can't quite picture her as the 'languorously sprawling' type. No, I bet she's one of those people who's full of pep and energy afterwards, who wants to go out there and *do* things. Great things. Impossible things.

I can just imagine it.

I can... Oh.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Caroline." Caught off-guard by the question, I automatically answer with the truth. (A dangerous habit, Katherine would say. Has said.) 

Katherine looks at me thoughtfully for a moment or two, and then a sly smirk spreads across her face.

"Haven't fucked her yet, huh," she says, not really making it a question.

"None of your business!" Embarrassingly, I feel my face grow hot, a sure sign that I'm blushing furiously. (And how annoying is it that being a vampire didn't even cure that. At least not when I'm well-fed. Of course, being not-well-fed has whole other problems.)

Still smirking, Katherine scooches over so she can look down at me. "She's quite the firecracker, you know," she says, like she's confiding secrets. "Such energy. Such *vigour*."

"Katherine!" My protest comes out a little higher pitched, a little more panicky than I would like. I take a moment to modulate my tone before continuing. "This is not a conversation I want to have with you. Not now, not ever."

Her grin twists, taking on a wicked edge. Something dangerous glitters in her eyes. "Never say never, Elena," she murmurs, cupping my cheek lightly. "Have I taught you nothing?"

Even as satisfied and blissed out as I am, her touch almost makes me shiver, kindling a spark deep inside me. Before I fully think through what I'm doing, I find myself pressing my lips to hers, sliding one hand over the smooth arch of her back.

"We are not having this conversation, Katherine," I murmur, my words edged with warning. For emphasis, I press my nails into her skin.

"Mmmm..." Katherine shivers, kissing me back thoroughly. "Apparently you *have* learned a few things." She makes a show of considering my words deeply. "Well, since you ask so nicely, I'll consider the subject off-limits. For now." I start to protest, but she cuts me off with another kiss, trailing her nails down my spine in a way that makes my skin tingle.

She doesn't need to speak with words for me to understand her meaning. The subject is closed. On this occasion. But she reserves the right to bring it up again in the future. Oh well. That's about as good as I'm going to get, I suppose.

If Katherine *has* taught me anything, it's that I should savour my victories. Because next time is a whole new contest, and all bets are off.

We kiss and caress for a while, our movements slow and unhurried. We both know it's not leading anywhere this time. We both know she's going to leave soon. But if she happens to ensure that she leaves me wanting more, well, that's Katherine for you.

And that's one favour I'm more than happy to return.

"There is something I want to say," I venture, when by mutual consent we finally break apart. (Perhaps we're both a little flushed, a little sweaty, a little distracted. But I'm not too distracted for further conversation. And that's something I definitely have to thank her for.)

(Much as it sometimes galls me to have to thank her for anything.)

"So say it," she sighs.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stands up smoothly and easily, turning the motion into a full-body stretch that takes her right up onto her toes, arms upraised as if she's trying to touch the ceiling. She sighs deeply, smiling to herself. It's a secretive smile, enigmatic. A Mona Lisa smile. I wonder what it means.

It's funny: most of the time, I just *get* her. Not that she's an open book, exactly -- god knows she has her secrets, after all -- but I understand how she thinks, where she's coming from, what she means. But sometimes, every once in a while, there's a certain look in her eyes, or she says something so completely out of left field that trying to follow the twists and turns of her thinking makes me feel like I'm trying to tie myself in knots.

And on those occasions, in those rare, scattered moments in time, it's like she's from a different planet.

But then the moment passes -- as they always do -- and it's just a smile. (Well, as much as anything about Katherine can be 'just' anything.) Satisfied, yet sly. She's had her fun with me, and now she's moving on to the next thing.

What is her 'next thing' this time, I wonder? Stefan again? Damon? Caroline? Someone or something else entirely?

Unexpectedly, I feel a stab of some sharp, unpleasant emotion. Jealousy? Am I jealous? I don't want to be, but...

But.

I've come to realise that there is one thing in particular that I have in common with Katherine. We both claim people as our own. Even if they don't really belong to us. (Any more.)

But I'm getting side-tracked.

I prop myself up on my elbows, the better to see Katherine, unable to stop myself admiring the play of muscles under her smooth, supple skin. I keep my eyes on her as she finishes her stretch and starts prowling the room in search of her discarded clothing.

"I know you like to get under people's skins," I say, finally. "But don't force Caroline to do things that she doesn't want to do."

Katherine laughs softly, bending to disentangle her bra from the bedclothes. "Why would I?" she says, like the very notion is unthinkable. "It's so much more fun to persuade someone to do the things they *do* want to do." She looks up at me with eyes full of mischief and deviltry. "You should know that, Elena." She blows me a kiss and straightens up. "You, if anyone, should know that."

I think about asking her what she means by that last remark, but I know it wouldn't do any good. Not with her in this mood. So I wrap the duvet around myself and watch her get dressed.

For some reason, maybe because Katherine mentioned him earlier, my thoughts turn towards Stefan and the time before. Before I was turned. Before Klaus and the Ripper. Before Katherine, even. Back when the biggest complication in my life was the fact that my boyfriend was a vampire.

Pretty big complication, right?

And yet, compared to what came afterwards? Hardly anything at all.

As always, I feel a pang when I think back to those days; the old days. So long ago, now.

It feels so long ago. I've changed so much since then, even beyond the obvious. I guess we all have, really. And I can't even blame Katherine for most of it. Much as I sometimes wish I could.

What is she really doing here? What does she really want from me and Caroline?

Aside from the obvious.

"Is this a game?" I blurt out the question, not even knowing I'm going to speak until the words are out of my mouth and hanging in the air between us.

Katherine tilts her head, pausing in the act of stepping into her panties, her smile turning distinctly wry. "Well, of course it is," she replies, as if speaking to a particularly slow child. I can't help but bristle a little, even knowing that's exactly what she wants. Only the fact that she's still speaking stops me from saying something I'd end up regretting. "Everything is a game. The question you should be asking is: what kind of game is it?"

I sigh. "So, what kind of game *is* it?" I ask, resignedly, as she continues to get dressed. I did start this line of conversation, after all. I'm kind of curious to see where it ends up.

"I don't know yet," she murmurs, a wicked glint in her eyes. "But it's going to be fun finding out."

Quickly retrieving and donning the rest of her clothes, she fishes her boots out from under the dresser but, rather than sliding her feet into them, she climbs back onto the bed. I blink at her as she stretches out beside me.

"What are you doing?" I wonder aloud.

She leans in and kisses me lightly. "You should take her out," she says, ignoring the question.

"Huh?"

Katherine's lips quirk as she looks down at me. Not a full smile, just the merest suggestion of one, but she's definitely amused.

"Caroline," she clarifies, relishing the name, drawing out the 'a' and rolling the 'r' around on her tongue. She leans in a little, brushes a stray hair off my face, lets her fingers linger a little longer than strictle necessary on my cheek. "You should take her out on a date."

I look at her for a long moment, trying in vain to keep the frown from my face. "Why?"

She does smile now; a wry, sharp-edged thing, her eyes glittering like diamonds. A brittle sort of humour. But her voice is still gentle as she answers. "Elena, if you need me to tell you why a girl should take her paramour out on a date, then you're a lost cause. And I don't do lost causes."

"No." I make myself bite back the hot rush of irritation at her deliberate misreading of my question, propping myself up on my elbows so she's not looking down at me any more. "I meant: why do *you* want *me* to take *Caroline* out on a date?"

"Don't you want to?"

"I didn't say that!"

Even knowing her like I do, knowing that she's trying to wind me up, the words just burst out of me, hot and angry. She's always been good at pushing my buttons. Now, she sits back on the bed, facing me, arms stretched out behind her, legs out in front with her knees slightly bent. Her face -- damn her -- is a perfect mask of polite puzzlement, eyebrows arched quizzically.

"So you *do* want to?" she asks, innocently. Like anything she says or does can ever be truly innocent. (Except sometimes, when she's lying beside me in the dark of the night. Except in those still and quiet times when I wonder, when I think that maybe, in some strange way -- her own way -- perhaps she actually is.)

"I didn't-" 'say that either,' I almost say, but trap the words on my tongue before they can escape into the air between us. I take a deep breath, swallowing them back down, making myself think. This isn't the way to pry Katherine's reasons from her. Not this time. So I answer her question. "Of course I want to," I say softly. "I've done the best I can -- *we've* done the best we can -- but it's been hard. We've been trying to keep this whole thing under wraps." I gesture vaguely with one hand, unable to find the right words to describe the complicated push and pull between Caroline and Katherine and I. "For obvious reasons." Damon, Stefan, Sheriff Forbes, Tyler... No, not Tyler. Not any more. But still the list goes on. I sigh heavily. "Mystic Falls is a small town."

"You need to think beyond Mystic Falls." The amusement is gone now, as is the fake confusion. I sit up all the way, emotional turmoil receding in the face of sudden clarity. This is Katherine being serious; Katherine making a point. This was never just about dating. (Well, gee. This *is* Katherine, after all.)

"I know," I say, slowly. I'm strangely pleased that I sound thoughtful rather than defensive. "I am. I've been looking into a few places, but..." It will change things. It will say things I don't know if Caroline is ready to hear. Hell, I don't know if I'm ready to *say* them. (Yet?) Change is hard. (Change hurts. Even if it's a good thing, even if it's for the best. It always, always hurts.) I can't say any of this, though. The words stick in my throat, no matter how much I want to force them out. But that's alright, because I know that Katherine understands. (One reason -- the main reason? -- why it's so easy to just be with her.) Instead, I compromise with: "It's all so expensive."

Katherine smiles brilliantly. "Is that all?" she drawls. Before I can respond, she swings her legs over the side of the bed, blowing a kiss over her shoulder at me as she stands. A couple of strides take her to the bag I hadn't noticed, tucked away in the corner by the door. I hold back my question as she rummages, curiosity burning within me. I don't have to wait long. With a triumphant exclamation, she seizes her quarry and returns to the bed, carelessly throwing whatever-it-is towards me as she settles down. I catch it automatically, looking at my hand to see:

"A credit card?" I look closer, my eyes widening a little involuntarily. "A platinum credit card? In my name?"

She shrugs expressively. "Happy birthday."

I narrow my eyes at her. "First of all, it's not my birthday. Second of all, what the hell? You can't just *give* someone a credit card. I can't afford-"

"I can," she interrupts, firmly. Leaning forward, she kisses me lightly on the lips, silencing the rest of my protest. Sighing inwardly, I stop trying to talk and kiss her back, not-so-lightly, catching her lower lip between my teeth. She makes a low, pleased noise, but before we (I) can get too carried away, she pulls back. "That card is linked to one of my accounts. I'll be taking care of the bills. You don't have to worry your pretty little head about it. All you need to do is use the card."

"But..." So many questions bubble up inside me that I'm temporarily tongue-tied. I make myself focus. "What am I supposed to use it *for*?"

Katherine laughs at that, a throaty chuckle of genuine amusement. "Oh, Elena, Elena," she purrs, looking at me with an expression that can only be described as fond. "Use it for whatever the hell you want. It's *your* card."

"I don't understand," I say, wincing inside at the plaintive note in my voice. "Why are you giving me this?" I guess I've accepted the fact that she can, apparently, just *give* someone a credit card. Of course she can: she's Katherine. But I don't ask the obvious question: I don't ask what she wants in return.

"It can't just be a gift?" I don't even bother to reply to that. She knows I know better. Nodding at me -- in approval -- she continues. "A couple of reasons, if you must know. Emergencies, for one. Hypothetical example: having ready access to extensive funds is awfully useful if you have to drop everything and go on the run." She fixes me with a steady, sober gaze. "I've invested a considerable amount of time and effort in you, Elena Gilbert. I will be damned if I let that go to waste because you don't have enough money to run if you have to. You can't always rely on being able to compel or kill your way out of trouble. Don't get me wrong. Violence and compulsion are useful tools for any vampire, but using them exclusively is a trap that far too many of our kind fall into. Sometimes it's best to do things the mortal way."

Her words make my stomach twist uneasily. Not the last part, but the first. Mystic Falls is my home, has always been my home. Bad things have happened here, it's true, but they don't outweigh the good, can't diminish the happy memories I've made here. I can't stand the thought that I may have to leave it. Not choosing to leave it -- because I *would* like to see the world one day -- but being forced to up sticks and flee. I know it could happen. I'm a Gilbert and a doppelganger and a vampire, three reasons why people might want to harm me and mine. But I can't...

Maybe it's cowardly of me, maybe it's stupid, but I just don't want to think about it. I haven't let myself think about it. But, somehow, I don't think Katherine's going to indulge me in that blindness any more.

"You said you had a couple of reasons," I say softly, when she shows no sign of continuing unprompted. "What's the other?"

"I want you to know what it's like to have money," she answers, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"What?" I almost think I've misheard. Almost. "Why?" Why do I need to know that? Why does she want me to know that?

"Aside from altruism?"

"Aside from altruism," I echo, flatly.

"You are going to live a long, long time. The attraction of poverty will soon pall." She flashes me a quick, wry smile. "Trust me on that. You're going to want comfort, maybe even luxury. That generally takes money." She shrugs. "Sure, you can compel your way into the finer things in life, but why take the risk of doing so directly? Money's easier. Money's safer. And it's becoming ever more so in today's world."

The look in her eyes is almost daring me to contradict her, to call her on her hypocrisy. Like she doesn't throw around compulsions like they were going out of style. Like I didn't have to practically order her not to use the old vamp-eyes discount around me. (I still don't know why she decided to humour me on that one. And I'm still waiting for her retaliation.)

But I don't want to fight with her right now. Not when she actually seems inclined to explain something for once. So I settle for merely raising my eyebrows quizzically.

"My family weren't exactly paupers," I point out, mildly. "And I do have my inheritance."

Katherine inclines her head to me. "The Gilberts of Mystic Falls have always been comfortably well-off," she concedes. "But there's a difference between being well-off and being truly, obscenely, *filthy* rich."

"You make it sound like I'm eventually going to be demanding gold plates and servants to carry me everywhere." I shake my head. "That really doesn't sound like me." I mean, I get wanting a comfortable life. That sounds reasonable. But living in the lap of luxury? Not really one of my priorities. And, for all that Katherine enjoys the finer things in life, I don't think it's really one of hers, either.

So, what's she really doing this for?

Her laughter rings out, clear and bright. "Don't knock it 'till you've tried it, darling." Her expression sobers again, although her eyes still sparkle a little. "Well, maybe not. But there will be times when you'll have to hobnob with the excessively wealthy." She sounds so sure about that. Does she have specific plans for me (us?) in that direction, or is it simply the voice of experience talking? "Blending in with those types takes a very particular skill set, part of which involves knowing how to handle having money."

"I think I know how to buy stuff, Katherine." I can't help rolling my eyes a little.

"Oh, it's rather more than that, Elena," she proclaims airily. "But I'm not going to argue with you. For now, let's just say that I want to give you that card. And I want you to use it."

"But..." My protest falters almost before the word is out of my mouth. I could say I don't want to be any further in Katherine's debt but, when compared to the rest of it, what's one little platinum credit card between friends? Or whatever we are to each other. I change tack a little. "I can use it for anything?"

"Whatever your little heart desires," Katherine replies, bestowing a beatific smile upon me. "Unless you're planning on purchasing a house or something on that order of magnitude, you don't need to worry about trifling things like credit limits. Those are problems for other people."

"And the bills...?"

"I'll pay them. All of them. You have my word."

"But what if you don't agree with..."

"It's your card. Use it however you want. Just use it. Learn how much easier things are when you have money. Have fun, live a little." Her smile softens, something almost gentle showing in her eyes. "It'll be good for you."

I don't quite know what to say to that, so I just go with the obvious response. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she says, and then winks at me. "Maybe you can take Caroline out on the town. Show her a good time."

"Yeah," I say, the word so quiet even I can barely hear it. I turn the platinum card over and over in my hands, watching the way the light glints on the hologram, the way it makes the embossed letters and numbers seem to gleam.

This is mine.

I don't think it's quite sunk in yet. It's not the money -- nice though I'm sure that will be when I can actually wrap my head around the thought. It's what it means.

It means freedom.

It means the removal of obstacles.

It means I don't have any excuses now.

Not that I was looking for any, not really. I mean, I do want to see where this thing with Caroline is heading. I do. But...

But...

Oh god, what if it all goes wrong? What if she's not ready? What if I'm not ready? What if she doesn't want to take things any further? What if she's just been trying to find a way to tell me she wants to go back to the way things were?

What if she just doesn't like me that way?

I don't know if I can do this.

"Hey." Startled out of my thoughts, I look up to see Katherine smiling wryly at me. She leans forward a little to brush a few strands of hair off my face, smoothing it back and sliding her hand down to rest lightly on my shoulder. "Amusing though it is to watch your facial contortions," she drawls. "There's no need to tie yourself up in knots. It's really not that complicated."

"Of course it is," I say. "She... We... I..." I can't find the words to continue. Katherine places a finger on my lips, putting a stop to my verbal floundering.

"Breathe, Elena." I frown, but do as she says, drawing in a deep breath that seems to start somewhere near my toes, letting it out again in a great sigh. I start to speak again, but she shakes her head, tapping my lips none-too-gently. "Keep going."

"I know how to breathe," I grumble, only just resisting the urge to bite her fingers, but I keep on taking deep, even breaths. After a few of them, Katherine nods approvingly and moves her hand away.

"You and Caroline have known each other for most of your lives," Katherine says, like the voice of reason. "There's no need to get dramatic about this. It's just the two of you in a nice restaurant. That's all. Good food, good company, good conversation." She shrugs. "No need to worry who might be watching or listening. No pressure. Just you and Caroline." She raises her eyebrows, holding my gaze. "Right?"

"Right," I say, slowly. But the word sounds far too hesitant for my liking, so I clear my throat and try again. "Right!"

And, just like that, I feel calm again. I would thank Katherine, but I know she'd just brush it off, so I just smile at her instead. She smiles back, something wicked glinting in her eyes, and leans in close, lowering her voice as if imparting confidences. "Who knows? Maybe she'll finally put out."

I start to protest, but suddenly Katherine's lips are on mine, and she's kissing me like she wants to devour me whole. And my heart is thundering in my ears and I'm kissing her back and my hands are starting to slide over her body, reaching for the fastenings of her clothing as I want her all over again, and...

Next thing I know she's across the room, *smiling* at me as I have to use all my willpower to keep back a growl of pure frustration.

"Goodbye, Elena." She doesn't even make a token effort to keep the satisfaction from her voice, blowing me a kiss as she gathers up her bag and boots.

A thousand possible responses flash through my head, but in the end all I say is: "Goodbye."

"Pleasant dreams."

And then she's gone. Leaving me with questions, leaving me wanting, leaving with the last goddamn word! That is just like her!

Just like always.

For now.


	8. Finale - Harmony

You lay there, afterwards, your bodies entwined together, the mingled sound of your breathing loud in the sudden silence of the room. Elena sprawls across you, her head pillowed on your shoulder, one arm around your middle, her legs tangled with yours. Without consciously deciding to move, you wrap your arms around her, enfolding her. She snuggles into your embrace with a low, pleased "Mmmm."

(This feels so...)

Your heart leaps almost painfully in your chest as you realise -- acknowledge -- that this feels right. The two of you, tangled together. It feels like it was meant to be.

'It's just the afterglow,' you tell yourself. Emotions and hormones still running high, running hot, making this feel like more than it is. More than friends with benefits. More than casual fun.

(It was never casual. Not even when you were still trying to pretend you really could think of it that way.)

It actually feels like the two of you could be... more. And feeling that way (thinking that way) is dangerous. Too dangerous.

You really can't let things go on like this.

"Wow," breathes Elena, startling you a little as she stirs, lifting her head so she can look at you. When her gaze meets yours it sends an almost palpable shock through your body, a feeling of contact, of a connection snapping into place. There's something soft and open in her eyes, something raw and awed and tender. Not for the first time, you think that looking into their depths feels a lot like falling.

(You fell a long time ago.)

(You're still falling.)

(And it's going to hurt so much when you hit the ground.)

But you make yourself smile like your heart isn't breaking, sighing softly as you meet her gaze with eyes wide open. "Wow," you agree. "That was amazing." Your arms, again moving of their own volition, tighten around Elena's body, pulling her in close so you can kiss her lightly. She returns the kiss with enthusiasm, smiling against your lips before you drift apart again.

"You were amazing," she says, and there's a flash of memory behind your eyes. Elena in tears, brackish despair running down her face to mingle with the blood around her mouth. The bitterness of salt and iron. You, taking her shoulders in a gentle but firm grip, telling her that she was an amazing person. That becoming a vampire hadn't changed who she was; couldn't possibly make her any less fabulous. You remember how that startled a smile out of her, how the sight of it made your heart leap like it was a bird trying to take flight.

(How could you ever have thought that you'd be able to just let her go?)

"*You're* amazing," you reply. And then, because there's no way you can resist it with that memory in your thoughts, you add: "Fabulous, even!"

Elena laughs delightedly, and you find yourself joining in, the knot in your chest loosening, letting you breathe again. The laughter is heady and invigorating, suffusing your body with warmth, reminding you of just how alive you feel. You're acutely aware of the slight weight of Elena's body on top of yours, of every inch of contact between your skin and hers.

And, amazingly, even with the aftershocks shivering through you, you want her all over again.

(You're still burning for her deep inside, where the wild things are. Where you keep your darker impulses chained and caged.)

(Except when you're with Katherine.)

A little dizzily, you think that if you could bottle this feeling, you'd never need to sleep again. You almost want to dance around the room, to sing, to rearrange the furniture, to run out and do something truly, amazingly *epic*.

You want to go back for round two.

(You want to fight; to struggle for dominance and win; to mark her with teeth and claws and hear her cry out in pleasure. You want to taste her blood. You want to feel her writhe beneath you.)

You just want to hang onto this feeling, to inscribe it on your senses so you'll never, ever, ever forget how special this is.

(You want more.)

Right now, you feel like you could achieve almost anything you set your mind to. And the only reason you even include that qualifier is because you don't *want* to do anything that would involve dislodging Elena from her place in your arms.

(But you can't let Elena see that side of you.)

If only this feeling could last forever.

(You can't stand the thought of her seeing you that way.)

If only *this* could last forever.

(If only you weren't so messed up.)

If only...

(If only.)

('If only' never got you anything that didn't hurt you in the end. But maybe that doesn't mean you should just give up on it.)

(You never have before, not really.)

(Maybe you never will.)

(Maybe that's just not who you are.)

Is it really so bad a thing, to have hope? As long as you know better than to put your faith in it. As long as you know better to believe that you'll get what you want in the end.

(As long as you're realistic.)

It'll hurt more, afterwards, but maybe...

(Maybe there really is a chance, a small one.)

Maybe it'll be okay.

Maybe you'll be okay.

(Maybe when the other shoe finally drops, you'll at least be able to hold on to something of your friendship.)

(Even if you can't hold onto anything else.)

The two of you laugh and laugh, until you're not even sure why you're laughing anymore. But it feels good, really good. It feels free and easy and uncomplicated.

Just the way things should be between the two of you.

(Just the way they're not.)

(All because you couldn't keep your stupid, childish *hope* locked up tightly in the box where it belongs. Love isn't the problem; love was never the problem. Heck, unrequited love might as well be the theme of your life to date. No, you can handle love just *fine*. Hope's the thing that gets you in trouble.)

(Every. Single. Time.)

(It was hope that made you take a chance on Matt when you knew he was still hung up on Elena. Whatever he said, you knew the truth. You told yourself that you were fine with it, that whatever happened, happened. That, anyway, it didn't matter. It was just a fling, after all. It wasn't anything really *serious*.)

(But you *hoped*.)

(And hope got your heart broken; hope got your dignity battered.)

(Hope played you for a fool.)

"Oh, Caroline," Elena sighs, when the laughter finally runs out. She curls up on you again, resting her head on your chest. You shift your grip a little to accommodate her. "This really was amazing."

(But how do you give up hope?)

"You said that already," you reply, smiling, the last few more drops of mirth bubbling up your voice. You kiss the top of Elena's head, stroke one hand lightly down her back.

"Well, it was," she says softly.

"Yeah.

Part of you almost can't believe this is real; that she's really here, on top of you, entwined with you, enclosed by you. That you and Elena have just made love for the first time.

(No, not 'first time'. You can't think 'first time,' because then you'll start thinking of second and third times. And more times after that. But you can't do that. You can't just assume that this is anything more than a one-time only thing. You can't hope. You can't let the idea of it, of you and Elena *together* settle into you mind; take root, become familiar.)

(Even though you kind of already are.)

(Even though a part of you -- a wilful, treacherous part -- already has.)

(How do you give up hope? That's easy: you don't. You just don't.)

(How can you, when it's so much a part of who you are?)

You almost start to say something -- to voice some of your inner turmoil, maybe -- but Elena shifts under your fingers, distracting you from whatever it was. She rolls her shoulders a little, arching her back in a way that makes you think of a cat being petted.

"Mmm," she says again, and you could almost, almost call it a purr. Stifling a grin (you wouldn't want her to think you're laughing at her, after all), you increase the pressure slightly, turning it into the nearest thing to a back massage you can manage from this angle. Judging by the happy noises she makes, Elena seems to appreciate the effort.

You stop doing what you're doing, and the happy noises turn into an inarticulate huff of disappointment. You can't help but smile at the adorably aggrieved 'how could you be so cruel?' expression Elena turns on you, but your resolve is firm.

"If you move off me, I can actually do this properly," you point out, gently. After all, there's no point in doing a half-assed job. For a moment she looks torn, like asking her to move is the most unreasonable thing in all the world. (And, maybe, like she's as reluctant to leave your embrace as you are to let her go?) But move she does, albeit with a heavy sigh. "Thank you," you say brightly.

"I should be thanking you," she says, her voice a little muffled by the pillow. "Seeing as you're about to do yet another nice thing for me."

"Maybe you'd better hold the thanks until we see if I'm any good at this," you murmur, straddling her thighs and resting your fingertips lightly on her skin. "I'm afraid my experience as a masseusse has been largely theoretical up until now."

"You mean I'm your guinea pig?" she says, mock-indignantly.

"Yep!" You smile brightly at the back of her head, letting her hear the amusement in your voice. "Having second thoughts?"

Elena laughs. "No, that's okay. I trust you, Caroline." For a second, a moment, a heartbeat, it's like a fist is squeezing your heart, like flames are trying to seep out from underneath your eyelids. (She trusts you.) But then the moment passes (context is everything) and you're able to respond to Elena's: "Do what you will with me!" with a sultry:

"I thought I already did." You lean forward, bending to kiss the nape of her neck. Elena gasps gratifyingly, the sound making you shiver, making your heart race more than the shock of sensation when your still-sensitive breasts brush against the skin of her back. You kiss her again, pull back a little, then lunge forward once more, this time with teeth bared, ready to-

No.

Pause.

Despite the part of you that wants to bite down (that wants to taste Elena's blood), you merely press your teeth gently into her skin, barely even dimpling it, nowhere near actually breaking through. Elena hisses (with disappointment?) and you almost join her.

Almost.

But now you're in control again. Not that you were ever really out of it.

Not really.

(Not that you really wanted to bite Elena like that anyway. Not *really*, really. It's just... bad habits.)

(Bad habits that you refuse to indulge with her.)

It's different with Elena. It has to be.

(*You're* different with Elena. Better, somehow. She makes you better.)

"Caroline," Elena says, the word tight and taut, like the muscles tensing under her skin.

"Yes, Elena?" you say, uncurling from your aborted lunge. Despite the flare of need (and unease) within you, your voice emerges steady and bright. You're strangely pleased about that. Elena sighs heavily as you sit back up, the sound not quite a groan. You laugh softly. "Ready for round two already? Did I not satisfy you the first time?"

"Oh, you did; believe me, you did," she says fervently, and there's no doubting the sincerity in her words. "I just..." Another heavy sigh. "I just want more."

(*You* want more.)

Now you're the one whose breath catches in her throat, the one whose muscles tighten with need.

You want her so much.

It isn't that you're not satisfied, because you are. You totally are. Making love with Elena was wonderful, tender, caring, sweet, and everything you could have hoped for. Even now, with all your innner turmoil, your confusion, your conflicted desires, you are truly, unmistakeably *happy*.

It's just that...

(Well.)

(You have issues.)

(Hell, you have subscriptions, box-sets; the whole shebang.)

(Control is kind of a big thing with you. And that's fine. That's just peachy. But the vampire thing... It's all about instincts and reactions. It is so not about control. But you can deal with that. You *have* dealt with it. Mostly. Denial and suppression get a bad rap, but they seem to work for you just fine.)

(Except... Except sometimes it's just so much easier to cut loose.)

(Sometimes you need to let it all out.)

(Big surprise who taught you that one.)

(It would make things so much simpler you could just boil this weird triangle situation down to Elena equals love and Katherine equals fucking. If you could say that one was real and one was just playing around. But when has your life ever been simple?)

(You're not in love with Katherine - and you're not, no matter the fact that she sometimes looks at you exactly, *exactly* the same way Elena does. But that doesn't mean what you have with her isn't complicated.)

(That it isn't real.)

(In some strange way, you're actually more sure about that relationship. At least you have no expectations about it, no hopes to dash. It is what it is.)

(Sex with Katherine is a release for you in more ways than the obvious. Being with someone who doesn't judge you -- at least, not in the way you fear -- and who you know you can't hurt unless she wants you to? God, that's... That's almost liberating. Even if you hate (yourself) what it shows you (yourself) about yourself.)

(Of course, if Katherine knew what you were thinking right now, she'd laugh herself sick. Or kick your ass seven ways from Sunday. Or just look at you with that expression that says you should know better.)

(She's not big on denial. Or on self-despite. At least when it doesn't suit her purposes.)

"Later," you agree, without even knowing you were going to say anything at all. Let alone something that sounds suspiciously like a promise. (Promises are almost as dangerous as hope.) "But I offered you a back rub and I'm going to follow through." Elena starts to say something, but the words trail off as you suit your actions to the words, moving your hands over her back. Lightly at first, then harder, you press your fingers into her skin, seeking out the knots and tense areas in the way you remember from books and YouTube videos. "How's that?"

"Mmmm," comes the muffled response.

"I'm going to assume that means 'fine.'"

"'S wonderful," she confirms. "I think I like being your guinea pig." Honestly, you're really not at all sure whether you're doing it right, but if she's enjoying it, then you can pretty much count it as a success.

As with so many things.

The minutes slip away as you stroke and need your way across Elena's skin, the comfortable silence occasionally disturbed by her small, pleased noises. You could do this forever. It's almost as relaxing for you as it seems to be for her, sending you into a blissful daze where the only thing that matters is the feel of her body under your hands.

You could get used to this.

"It really was, you know."

The words -- the first coherent ones out of Elena's mouth in at least ten minutes or so -- startle you out of your reverie. You don't jump, of course, but you also don't manage more than a distracted "Huh?" in response.

"Making love with you was amazing," she clarifies, her voice low and certain. She lets silence fall and stretch, as if waiting for you to respond, but your tongue seems frozen and leaden in your mouth. In the end, she breaks it herself with: "The massage was also pretty great, thanks, but I think I'm about as relaxed as I'm going to get. Let me up so I can talk to you properly?"

"Sure," you say, climbing off her. She pushes herself up onto her knees and turns to face you, clasping your hands in hers. The intensity of her gaze just about takes your breath away, pinning you in place. You couldn't look away from her right now if you tried.

"It was... It was *magical*." She starts slowly, but her words come faster and faster, until they're all-but tumbling over each other. "It was everything I could have dreamed, everything I needed." They become a torrent, a river, a flood. "You mean so much to me, Caroline. I mean, I know I'm not the best friend in the world, and maybe I don't show or tell you enough how important a part of my life you are, but..." She breaks off mid-sentence, a puzzled frown flickering across her face. Tentatively now, she asks: "Are you crying?"

For a brief, confused moment, you genuinely don't know, have no idea what you can possibly say to her, but then the moment passes. Blinking eyes that are perhaps a little misty -- but not overflowing -- you turn up the wattage of your smile, letting your happiness shine through.

(And you are happy, really. Even if this might not be everything you ever wanted after all. Even if more than you ever expected turns out not to be enough after all.)

(You're lucky, so lucky, to have her as a friend. And even if *this* never happens again, you'll always have the memory of this night.)

(The memory of her loving you.)

"Maybe a little," you say, your voice warm and tender ever-so-slightly sheepish. "I'm just so happy!"

The tiny frown line between her eyes melts away as if it was never there, her spreading smile illuminating her whole face with joy.

"Me too," she breathes, reaching up to cradle your cheek in her hand. "This was just..."

She kisses you, or maybe you kiss her. No, you kiss each other, slow and sweet and tender. It feels timeless, endless, eternal. Everything that this thing between you can never ever be.

Because it's going to end, eventually.

(It always ends.)

But not right now.

And so you throw yourself into the kiss, heart and soul, showing her with your actions the thing that you'll never be able to say in words.

You love her.

You love her.

You *love* her.

She meets and matches you, tenderness for tenderness, passion for passion, until you could almost (almost) believe that she's also trying to communicate without words. To say something...

The same thing?

(No, of course not. How could it be? Why would she?)

(She wouldn't. Of course she wouldn't.)

(But, just for tonight, you want so badly to believe.)

You want to believe it.

You want to believe that she loves you the way you love her, that she wants to be *with* you.

Even if she never says the words.

And, as you lose yourself in the kiss, you kind of, maybe, really (almost) can.

So you do.

You let yourself be overwhelmed.

And when the two of you break apart, flushed and tousled and short of breath, you stare deeply into each others' eyes and, at the same time, you whisper the word:

"Perfect."


	9. Finale - Counterpoint

Katherine sinks onto the bed, spent and satisfied. Warmth pools in her stomach, spreading outwards, suffusing her entire body until it seems as if her skin must be glowing with it. Her eyes are closed, her senses focused inwards. She luxuriates in the feelings, all of them, the sting and ache of rapidly healing wounds just as potent as the rippling aftershocks of pleasure.  
  
It's all good.  
  
Better than good; it's wonderful.  
  
The mattress shifts a little beneath Katherine, interrupting her languid musings.   
  
'Ah,' she thinks to herself, keeping her smile inside. 'Right on cue.'   
  
Seems like its time for Caroline to exit stage left. With a goodbye or without one? Past history favours the latter course, but, contrariwise, she places a bet with herself that Caroline will, for once, actually bid her farewell.  
  
She also considers whether it's worth attempting to stop her, to try and have that talk she thought about earlier...  
  
No, she concludes, on balance. Maybe another time, maybe another place. Maybe when Caroline isn't already leaving her, in spirit if not quite in body just yet.  
  
So she's almost (but not quite) surprised when, instead of being left alone in the bed, she feels Caroline settle in next to her. Then, in an utterly unprecedented move, Caroline slides an arm beneath Katherine's body and pulls her into an embrace.  
  
This is... different.  
  
But Katherine, nothing if not adaptable, can't help but be intrigued at this new twist in the game. She curls her body into Caroline's, letting the other's arms enfold her, noting the tiniest of sighs that emerges from Caroline's lips when she rolls with this unexpected turn of events. She looks up, searching Caroline's eyes to see what's going through her mind.  
  
Not exactly nervousness. More... caution. And surprise? Yes, surprise. Not something Caroline was planning, then.  
  
How perfectly fascinating.  
  
How perfectly *wonderful*.  
  
Warmth fills her, lips curving upwards in a spontaneous, happy smile. She can't help kissing Caroline lightly on the lips and then, sensing that she needs a little more reassurance, kissing her again. And once more for luck. Caroline looks confused but pleased, and Katherine feels the residual tension leave Caroline's body.  
  
"So, you stuck around, then," Katherine observes, with just the right degree of casualness.  
  
Caroline nods her head slowly. "Yes," she says, and her jaw tenses just a little as she adds: "Is that a problem?"  
  
Katherine shrugs, enjoying the way the movement slides her body over Caroline's soft skin. "I don't know. Is it?"  
  
Caroline flashes her perfect in white teeth in a perfect bright smile. "If it's not a problem for you, it's not a problem for me," she trills.  
  
Ah, denial. Caroline's favourite way of dealing with problems. Katherine has found it useful in the past, but not at the moment.  
  
She can't help idly wondering if Caroline really believes she'll let her off the hook so easily. "So, what brought on this change?" she drawls, playing with a stray lock of Caroline's golden hair.  
  
It's Caroline's turn to shrug. "I don't know. I just felt like it." She narrows her eyes a little, not quite a glower, but there's definitely steel in her gaze. "Aren't you the one who's always trying to encourage me to indulge my whims?"  
  
Oh, really? Confrontation? Two can play *this* game. And Katherine is far, far better at it. She shifts a little in Caroline's arms, raising her head so she's looking down at her, dropping her voice into a low purr.  
  
"Well, since you mention *indulgence*, tell me: have you and Elena fucked each other yet?"  
  
Caroline freezes for a moment, then juts her chin, defiance flashing in her eyes.  
  
"I don't think that's any of your business, Katherine," she says, her voice practically arctic.  
  
"Why not? I paid for your evening out, after all," Katherine retorts.  
  
There are several ways that Caroline might reply to this, and all of them will be telling. All of them will give her an opening.  
  
Caroline shoots upright, shoving Katherine off to one side. Katherine braces herself, spins back to face her, just in time to see the hand flashing towards her face. She could dodge the blow, but she chooses not to, accepting the pain -- a sting in her cheek, a twinge in her heart -- into herself.   
  
She's never been of the school that just turns that kind of thing off, after all.  
  
Her humanity is far too precious for that.  
  
With the right attitude even the worst pain can just be another spice to her life.  
  
This isn't the time to indulge in her taste for that particular flavouring, though. She meets Caroline's eyes, searching them while Caroline struggles for breath and words, chest heaving. There's the expected anger, of course, but no surprise. No shock. And that says something.  
  
Caroline gathers her composure, her back ramrod straight as she glares daggers at Katherine.  
  
"Just because you paid the bills doesn't mean you paid for *us*," she hisses.  
  
Ah, so that's how it is.  
  
Deliberately, Katherine relaxes her posture, softening her body language and voice, looking at Caroline with an open, neutral expression. "You're right," she agrees, reasonably. "And I never said that I did." And while Caroline is rendered silent again, her fury tempered by confusion, Katherine seizes the advantage to press towards her real goal. Well, one of them. "It's just that I'm involved with both of you." She reaches up and strokes Caroline's cheek. "And there's nothing wrong with that."  
  
Caroline's glare has melted into a frown. She swallows hard, takes a deep breath, starts to say something incoherent while -- tellingly -- jerkily shaking her head but then, finally, simply bursts into tears.  
  
Already half-prepared to move, Katherine smoothly gathers Caroline into her arms and pulls her down under the covers, cradling her with her body. Caroline twitches a little, but doesn't pull away. And when Katherine starts stroking her hair, Caroline just crumbles. Burrowing into Katherine, she stops fighting her tears and just lets them come.  
  
"It's alright," Katherine murmurs, kissing the top of her head. "Just let it out. Let it all out."  
  
And Caroline does.  
  
Minutes pass while Caroline sobs helplessly in Katherine's arms. Katherine just waits patiently, holding her, stroking her hair, occasionally whispering reassurances and words of comfort. Part of her can't help but be wryly amused at the thought of what certain other people might say -- people who think they know her -- if they could see her right now.  
  
They wouldn't believe it. They'd think it was some kind of trick, some kind of trap. That she was just being her usual manipulative, game-playing self. And maybe she is.  
  
But that doesn't mean this isn't real.  
  
It doesn't mean she doesn't love Caroline. Or Elena. Or any of the others she's given her heart to over the years.  
  
She just doesn't know another way to be.  
  
Not that any of these musings will help poor Caroline, still tangled up in all the lies that society feeds its children.  
  
Especially all of its beautiful, broken girls.  
  
Eventually Caroline's tears slow, then stop, her shuddering breaths becoming smooth and even once more. She draws back a little, rubbing half-heartedly at her face before taking a deep breath and looking up at Katherine.  
  
Katherine waits a beat to see if Caroline will speak, but the silence remains unbroken. Caroline's expression is dazed and numb, so Katherine smooths her tear-matted hair from her face and delicately takes the lead.  
  
"Do you think what we're doing is a bad thing?" she asks quietly.  
  
"What-" Caroline's voice cracks on the word. "What do you mean?"  
  
"You and Elena. Me and Elena. You and me."  
  
Caroline starts speaking almost before Katherine has finished, not quite interrupting, but responding instinctively, unthinkingly. "Nothing with Elena could ever be wrong."  
  
Katherine waits a beat, lets the Caroline's words hang in the air between them, lets the hurt she feels show on her face. "And what about you and me?"  
  
Caroline's own eyes widen, briefly, then she shakes her head, frowning. "I didn't mean..." She trails off, puffs out her cheeks with a sigh, and then tries again. "It's just..." She closes her eyes for a moment, and then meets Katherine's gaze, looking miserable. "None of this is normal, is it? The three of us. And then, when I'm with you, all this..." She twitches her shoulders in a minute shrug. In a small voice, she confesses: "Sometimes I scare myself."  
  
That sounds like two distinct issues to Katherine, much as she already suspected. She rapidly considers and discards several different possible approaches, stroking Caroline's cheek lightly as she thinks. "Why settle for 'normal', Caroline?" she asks, her voice a gentle murmur. "You can be so much more than that."  
  
"But what if I don't want to be?"  
  
"Is that what you want? Or is that what you think you should want?"  
  
"I don't *want* to be-" Caroline breaks off without finishing the sentence, but Katherine knows what she was going to say.  
  
"It isn't wrong to enjoy sex," Katherine says. "It isn't wrong to have a relationship with more than one person. It isn't wrong to give yourself, to love freely and without shame. The only shameful thing is letting others dictate who you get to be."  
  
"I don't *know* who I am any more."  
  
The whispered words have all the intensity of a scream, the anguish in Caroline's eyes touching something deep within Katherine. She tightens her embrace, pulling Caroline in close, laying a gentle kiss upon her cheek.  
  
"That's the beauty of being a vampire," she says, simply. "You've got all of eternity to figure that out."  
  
"But there's a... a monster inside of me."  
  
Katherine has to laugh at this, stroking Caroline's hair to take away some of the sting of her humour. "You've been paying too much attention to Stefan," she chides, softly. "He has some... peculiar ideas about what we are. Not to mention a distressing tendency to generalise from his own experiences." She sighs. "Being a vampire doesn't mean you're a monster. Nor is it like some demon squatting inside you, trying to control you. It just brings... urges. But urges can be controlled, or channelled, or even indulged. Under the right circumstances. And that's a choice. That's who you are. To say anything else is to abdicate responsibility for your own actions. It's *lazy*. And you, Caroline, are not lazy."  
  
Caroline is silent for a few moments, clearly turning Katherine's words over in her mind, brow furrowed in thought. "But what about..." She swallows hard. "Earlier. I... I hurt you." Her voice drops until it's barely audible, barely even louder than the rapid beating of her heart. "And I enjoyed it."  
  
"So? *I* enjoyed it. You know I did."  
  
"Yes, but..."  
  
"But what? What's your point?"  
  
"It's wrong."  
  
Katherine laughs again, softly. "Oh, Caroline. You're such an innocent." She rolls them both over, shifting and turning so that they end up with Caroline on her back and Katherine on top of her. Still chuckling, Katherine leans in and touches her lips to Caroline's. The kiss is gentle at first, but Caroline responds with unexpected passion, clutching at Katherine's back, and the two of them turn up the heat until it almost seems as if they're trying to devour each other.  
  
"Is this wrong?" Katherine murmurs, cupping one of Caroline's breasts in her palm, stroking her thumb across the nipple. "Or this?" She slides her other hand between Caroline's parted thighs, stroking and caressing the delicate flesh there so that Caroline arches and gasps and opens to her. Caroline swiftly returns the favour, wriggling one of her own hands between their bodies, working deft fingers between Katherine's legs. Katherine moans, deep in her throat, nipping at Caroline's lower lip with her teeth before turning her face aside to kiss her way down Caroline's neck, to press her teeth into the soft skin over her racing pulse, gently at first, but harder, and then harder still.  
  
They're both panting now, Caroline making small whimpering noises in the back of her throat as she squeezes Katherine's ass with her free hand. She's close now, so close. Katherine herself hovers on the brink, Caroline's exquisite hands bringing her nearer and nearer the point of no return, but she clings onto her control, waiting, waiting...  
  
...until Caroline starts to tighten around her fingers, until her eyes widen, until she draws a sharp breath and...  
  
"Is this wrong?" Katherine asks again, the third time, the charm, and sinks her fangs into Caroline's throat, and Caroline's blood is in her mouth and...  
  
...Caroline and Katherine fall over the edge together.  
  
Afterwards, When they've both stopped trembling, when they've disentangled themselves from each other, Katherine kisses the healing marks she left on Caroline's throat, wiping away the few drops of blood that remain on her skin.  
  
"How are you feeling?" she asks.  
  
Caroline blinks, her expression uncertain, like the question may be a trap. That's not entirely unwise of her, Katherine acknowledges.  
  
"Good, I guess," Caroline says.  
  
"Did I hurt you?"  
  
"Maybe. I think. I don't know. It was kind of hard to tell with the..." she waves her hand vaguely, blushing a little.  
  
"So, you're saying it felt good?"  
  
"Well, I..." Caroline sighs, and then, unexpectedly, smiles brilliantly, meeting Katherine's eyes. "Actually, if you must know, it felt freaking fantastic."  
  
Katherine can't help but smile back. "I should hope so," she purrs. But Caroline's smile starts to falter, and Katherine can practically see her start start to second-guess herself, so Katherine wraps and arm loosely around Caroline's middle and continues in a more serious tone. "And enjoying that isn't a bad thing. People have different tastes. Mixing pain and pleasure isn't for everyone. But it's just another sensation, that's all. Just another flavour. Different strokes for different folks." A beat. "So to speak."  
  
Caroline frowns. "But that was just... It's not the same as what I... As what..." She shrugs. "You know."  
  
"Different tolerances, that's all. Some people like their spices the hotter the better; while others..." Katherine shrugs. "A little dash for seasoning. And some don't like spices at all. *I* think they're missing out but, as I said: different tastes."  
  
"Are we talking about sex or food now?" Caroline mutters. But the tension in her eyes seems to ease a little. Not that Katherine believes she's going to overcome the thought patterns of a lifetime in one night, but it's a start.  
  
"Either. Both." Katherine shrugs again, then waves a hand dismissively. As far as she's concerned, this conversation is over. She's said what she wanted to say. The rest is up to Caroline.  
  
Katherine stretches luxuriously, then burrows down into the bed, rolling over to coccoon herself in the duvet.  
  
"Hey!" protests Caroline, suddenly bereft of any cover.  
  
Katherine looks back over her shoulder. "My duvet," she smirks.  
  
"What, you can't share now?" Caroline grumbles. "No, never mind. Forget I asked. It's time I was going, anyway."  
  
Caroline gets up, does some stretching of her own -- Katherine blatantly and unsubtly admires the view -- and starts to hunt for her clothes. Katherine can see the exact moment when Caroline remembers what happened to them: it's about the point at which she finds her dress. Well, half of it.  
  
"Katherine!"  
  
"Yes, Caroline?" Katherine blinks guilelessly.  
  
Caroline glowers darkly, then shakes her head and stomps away, muttering to herself. From the few words Katherine can make out, it's something distinctly uncomplimentary. She mentally awards Caroline four out of ten for effort. For a moment, she almost thinks that Caroline is just going to head out as she is, but no. She makes her way over to her -- somewhat oversized -- shoulder bag, from which she proceeds to pull out a whole new set of clothes.  
  
Katherine can't help but admire her foresight and planning.  
  
Caroline dresses quickly, then tidies her hair and reapplies her make-up. Katherine can't help but think of a warrior donning their armour and weapons, ready to do battle.  
  
The resemblance is not precisely coincidental.  
  
When all is to Caroline's satisfaction, she comes over to the bed and, much to Katherine's surprise, leans over to bestow a gentle kiss upon her lips.  
  
"Goodbye, Katherine," she says, heading for the door. "I suppose I'll see you when I see you."  
  
For a moment, as ever, there's the temptation, the *pull* to abuse Caroline's trust, to betray it.  
  
To burn this shining *thing* they've made between them to the ground.  
  
To deliver Caroline's head to Elena, just to see her face crumble.  
  
She loves her.  
  
She loves them both.  
  
It's what she does.  
  
It's what she always does.  
  
And, like always, it will end in pain, in fire, in blood.  
  
It's a weapon like any other.  
  
It's a weapon she has forged out of herself.  
  
It's a weapon she has chosen to be, to survive.  
  
It hurts.  
  
It always hurts.  
  
How can it not?   
  
To seduce someone, she has to seduce herself.  
  
The emotion is genuine.  
  
The emotion is *always* genuine.  
  
But the pain that inevitably comes with it is a spice she's learned to appreciate.  
  
And she likes her spices hot.  
  
And so, for a moment, she almost acts.  
  
Almost.  
  
But not quite.  
  
Instead, she lets Caroline takes her leave.  
  
And closes her eyes, listening to Caroline's footsteps on the stairs, to the brief farewell she exchanges with the landlandy, to the front door opening and then closing.  
  
Only then does she say, softly: "Goodbye, Caroline."  
  
Things *can't* go on like this.  
  
She'll burn the intricate construction that is Katherine-Elena-Caroline to the ground yet.  
  
But not today.  
  
Not today.  
  



End file.
